


Who Knows When (Joger/Dealor)

by rac06h10ael



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angry Roger Taylor (Queen), Angst, Bisexual Roger Taylor (Queen), Drunk Roger Taylor (Queen), Eventual Smut, Everyone Is Gay, F/M, Gay, Gay Sex, M/M, Maylor - Freeform, Minor Brian May/Roger Taylor, Not in a gay way, Paul Prenter Being an Asshole, bros being bros, dealor - Freeform, froger - Freeform, joger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-01-31 12:25:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 73,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18591235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rac06h10ael/pseuds/rac06h10ael
Summary: "Roger, please. We've been good so far, and we haven't done anything we'll regret. Let's keep it that way."When John joins Freddie, Brian, and Roger's band as their new bassist, Roger wasn't quite sure how he felt about him. However, as the pressures of getting their first album out intensified and the days in the studios grew longer, Roger quickly found himself growing fond of the new band member that no one could figure out. He was a complete mystery, and the drummer couldn't get enough of him.Follow their tumultuous relationship in "Who Knows When," a Joger/Dealor story loosely based off Luca Guadagnino's film, "Call Me By Your Name."***Shorter, broken-down chapters on Wattpad under the same username***





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nachaelsquared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nachaelsquared/gifts).



“Humpy Bong,” I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes and shaking my head as I looked out the car window at the passing scenery, “I can’t believe Tim fucking left us for _Humpy Bong_.” There was an undeniable disgust in my mention of the band’s name.

“Oh, would you give it a break?” Brian replied with a groan, having heard the same argument several times before, too many times to count. “That was months ago, Rog. We have Freddie now and he’s already working on new songs for us. All we need to do is find a bassist and—”

“And what?” I snapped, meeting his brief gaze with wildly frustrated and exhausted eyes. His tightly pressed lips curled downward into a frown before he reluctantly returned his attention to the long stretch of pavement ahead of us, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. I could tell by his actions and lack of response that he was contemplating pulling the run-down van over and kicking me out. After all, making me walk the rest of the way while he sped off was the more favorable option than having this conversation for the hundredth time, both of us knowing that it wasn’t going to end well, especially while we were confined to such a small space. So instead, we decided to drop the sore subject and continue the drive in silence.

However, just because we stopped talking about it didn’t mean that I’d stopped thinking about it. In fact, it was all I’d been able to think about since that night Tim walked out on us. I thought we finally had something, and so did Brian, but apparently Tim felt differently. “They’re going places,” he had told us, “They’re going to be big…We’re not going anywhere with this.”

I kicked the glovebox out of frustration, my actions fueled by the unpleasant memory, and shifted awkwardly in the passenger seat, turning my back on Brian. “Hey!” he exclaimed, catching quick, annoyed glimpses at me as he tried to divide his attention equally, “Jesus Christ, Roger. Calm down.”

“No, you calm down,” I mumbled childishly, keeping my back to him for only a short moment more before shifting once again in the seat, leaning forward and pulling out a flattened box from the back pocket of my jeans. I tore into the box like an animal and extracted the last cigarette I had on me, tossing the empty container over my shoulder into the back seat and snatching the lighter up from the cup holder in the center console. My shaky hand brought the thin stick up to my lips as my other hand attempted to ignite the lighter’s spark.

The wind rushing through the vehicle made the task near impossible, but relentless in my endeavor, I eventually lit the cigarette and drew in the much-needed relaxant. I held the smoke in for as long as I could before resting my head back against the headrest and exhaling, the clouded breath passing over me in a gust of smoke that only slightly irritated my eyes. “How do we know this guy’s not going to be like the rest of them?” I asked quietly, my voice so soft that Brian almost didn’t hear it over the soft hum of the radio whose station had turned to a strange combination of fuzz and spurts of jazz depending on our surroundings.

Brian heaved a sigh and answered civilly, “We won’t until we meet him, Rog, but we’re never going to find a new bassist if we give up.”

I scoffed and took another drag, repeating my actions but, instead of making a comment, turned my head and looked out at the bright blue sky reaching out to the horizon, a sky that darkened with each mile the van drove. By the time we reached our destination, the sun that was hanging high above us was now only peaking over the unfamiliar town we found ourselves in. Nerves kept both of us inside the vehicle as we surveyed the location drawing in a crowd of typical college students. It was easy to recognize them based on what they wore and how their voices carried through the still night’s air.

“Are you sure this is the place Fred said to meet him at?” I mumbled, flicking the short, burned-out butt of the cigarette out the opened window and sinking farther back into the seat.

“Yes, Roger. Now, come on.” Brian turned the ignition off, and the van silenced with a sputter of the dying engine. He shot a glare in my direction, staring at me with narrowed eyes as he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped outside, slamming the car door and adjusting his jacket before heading inside. I defiantly crossed my arms over my chest and watched as he shrunk in size the closer he got to the building, standing out from the crowd because of his hair and his height. I kind of appreciated that about him, though I’d never say it to his face. He’s self-conscious about things like that.

It didn’t take long for me to become uneasy with the intensifying loneliness in the van than with the idea of having to try another stranger out to be part of our band, and in a rash decision, I jumped out of the van and rushed inside like my life was in danger. As I broke through the doors, I found Brian at the entrance, waiting for me.

“I got you this,” he shouted so I could hear him over the clamor of conversation and live music that filled the bar, holding a new pack of cigarettes up as a small grin appeared on his face. I couldn’t hold back the thankful grin in response to Brian’s gesture, going to snatch the small box out of his hand when he raised it higher in the air. “But the guy I got them from told me you’d have to buy him a drink first.”

My eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “Wait, what do you—” My eyes scanned the crowded establishment and landed on the only man sitting at the bar with a scarf and eyeliner, looking at the two of us with a growing smirk. My smile stretched out even further as I yanked the cigarette pack out of Brian’s hands and crossed the room, sneaking someone’s lighter as I passed by and lighting another stick along the way. I plopped down on the stool next to my benefactor and leaned against the bar, pinning the cigarette in between my lips.

“About time you showed up,” the man greeted cheekily as he picked up the pack I had set down on the counter and pulled out a cigarette for himself.

“Well that’s what you get when you invite us out of the blue to a bar that’s three hours away, Freddie.” I lifted the stolen lighter and brought the flame up to the end of the white stick, holding it long enough for the singer to light up.

“Oh, stop being such a drama queen, Rog,” he muttered through the space in between his lips. Freddie took a long drag and let it out slowly, the stream of smoke cutting through the air as he looked back to see Brian standing behind us. “What did I say about there being only one drama queen in this band?”

The curly-haired guitarist shook his head, avoiding the misleading question by proposing another one. “So, where’s this new guy, Fred?” Freddie raised his hand and pointed at the stage at the other end of the bar. Brian and I exchanged a confused look before he cleared his throat and spoke for both of us, replying, “Freddie, we can’t take another band’s bassist.”

The man with the noticeable overbite scoffed at Brian’s assumption, as if he should’ve known better. “No, no, no,” he pointed in the same direction again, “Not the guy _on_ stage, you idiot. The guy _beside_ the stage.”

I leaned back on the stool to look around Brian, my eyes falling upon the long-haired, lanky man swaying side to side to the music with his hands positioned as if they were holding an imaginary bass. Plucking the invisible strings, he played along with the band and kept time with his legs, his pants hugging his waist and thighs, flaring out at his calves, and disguising the heeled boots he wore. I raised a curious eyebrow, slowly losing myself in the mystery that was Freddie’s conquest.

_Where did he meet this guy, and what was so special about him? That he could play air bass? That his eyeliner competed with Freddie’s? That he was the only guy who could pull off a look like—_

My quickly derailing train of thought was cut short when I felt a hand around my upper arm, snapping me out of the daze I had fallen into and breaking my one-sided staring contest with the fascinating stranger. My distracted gaze traveled up to meet Brian’s, who nodded his head towards the rowdy crowd that Freddie had ventured into without us, implying we needed to follow suit. I heaved a sigh and put the cigarette back up to my lips, inhaling the biggest breath of nicotine and carcinogens I could and letting it escape through my nose and mouth like a dragon. “Let’s get this bloody thing over with, Bri,” I grumbled, smashing the butt into the ashtray on the counter and standing up, “The sooner we do this, the quicker we can get home.”

“What makes you think I’m driving you home?” Brian retorted with a smirk, “I only said I’d drive you here.”

Before I could build a snarky remark to respond with, Freddie’s voice sounded over the room, attracting our attention. “Boys!” He excitedly motioned us over, acting as if we and the man he claimed was worthy of joining the band were the only people there. “Come meet John!”

“John,” I repeated annoyedly under my breath, forcing a grin on my face and matching Brian’s actions as we both waved to the man who had shyly raised his own hand first. “How traditional, just like Paul.”

“Stop it,” the guitarist growled, nudging me in the side and eliciting a shocked gasp and glare. He widened his eyes and raised his eyebrows, tacking on an authoritative and threatening, “ _Now_ ,” to his previous statement.

“Yes, _Father_ ,” I sneered, rolling my eyes and grabbing the box of cigarettes off the bar, pushing forward as Brian tagged along like a puppy who was afraid of being left behind. We approached Freddie and his new friend, and the singer wasted no time in getting us acquainted. As Freddie rambled on and on about why he thought John would be the perfect fit for the band – not really letting the man speak for himself – I found myself, once again, staring at him. There was just something about him that I couldn’t quite put my finger on; something that made him different than all the others we had attempted to collaborate with.

“So, does Friday work for you?” Brian inquired interestedly, bringing me back to reality and making me realize that I had missed the entire conversation. “You can meet us at my place after class. It’s right by the school.”

“Yes,” John replied simply with an accent that none of us had ever heard before, adding yet another cryptic layer to his identity.

“Marvelous, darling!” Freddie exclaimed flamboyantly, clapping his hands together and smiling at me with that big-toothed smile of his that still managed to irk the dentist inside of me, though I promised him I wouldn’t say anything. “Roger, why don’t you be a doll and get us some drinks to celebrate?” Before I could object, he quickly added with a wink, “You owe me.”

I shoved my finger in his face, clenching my jaw and gritting my teeth to hold back the insult that wanted to escape. It would’ve found its way out if it wasn’t for me catching a glimpse of John’s stare that oozed with anticipation and eagerness, the corner of his lip curling up ever so slightly as if he was waiting for me to go off on Freddie; as if the impending quarrel was bound to be the highlight of his night. I’d be damned to let that be the first impression I make on this guy, though, so I bit my lip and slowly dropped my hand to my side, clasping it in my other hand behind my back and forcing another grin on my face as I replied as politely as I could manage, “I’d be honored to, Freddie.”


	2. Chapter 2

Months had gone by and I was surprised to find that I didn’t actually mind John’s company. Maybe it was because he didn’t feel the need to be the center of attention like the rest of us did, staying out of the arguments the three of us would get into over the stupidest of things. Sometimes I’d meet his gaze during those fights, and it was the same look he gave me the first night we met. That stare, that smirk, saying everything he wasn’t: “Go on, Roger. Don’t act different just because I’m here. You know you want to yell at them; you know you want to pick that up that chair and chuck it across the room. Just do it. It won’t change what I think of you.”

 _What_ did _he think of me?_ It was hard to tell. He didn’t say much, keeping to himself for the most part. Freddie had told me the only time he’d heard him mention anything about himself was the first night they met, and John was so shitfaced that, the next day, he didn’t remember meeting him; acted like they were complete strangers.

We were roommates now, the four of us, and it was hard to keep secrets. Yet somehow, John managed to do it. He managed to sit right beside us, eat dinner with us, and go out for nights on the town with us, all while maintaining the mystery that enwrapped his entire being.

I thought I’d figured out all the kinds of people in life - the people like Freddie trying to make a name for themselves, the people like Brian riding the wave and letting the tide take him wherever it may go, and the people like me, wanting nothing more than to have a good time. Then there was John, unlike anyone I’d ever known. I wondered why it didn’t bother Brian and Freddie as much as it bothered me. It could’ve been that they liked him because he didn’t give them such a hard time when it came to our music like I did, so his strange behavior didn’t concern them. It consumed every thought of mine, though.

“What’s your problem?” I blurted out one morning, catching him off guard while he was in the middle of eating his breakfast. He met my gaze mid-bite, his jaw dropped and the piece of toast he had pinched in between his fingers hanging limply in the air.

“What?” he murmured.

My eyes shifted from his face down to his hand, my eyebrows furrowing together. I raised my hand and pointed to his breakfast, asking, “Is that cheese and toast?”

“Yes,” he replied in that same way he always does, straightening his posture as if he had something to prove.

I stared at him for a little longer before shaking my head and remembering what I had joined him at the small dining table for. “I just…” My voice trailed off as I found my thoughts still fixated on the piece of bread with a slice of cheese on it in John’s hand. I sat forward, dropping my elbows onto the table, and gestured again towards the food. “I don’t understand how you’re eating that.”

“What’s wrong with it?” he replied innocently, examining the toast like it was a piece of evidence in a crime scene.

“Stop being a jerk, Roger,” a third voice joined the conversation, attracting both of our attentions to the doorway separating the kitchen and the small apartment’s common area, where Brian stood tall with guitar case in hand, the sunlight shining behind him giving him an almost angelic glow. “Leave the poor boy alone.”

I scoffed, exclaiming in defense, “I’m just asking him a question!”

The guitarist rolled his eyes and said, “Get yourselves ready, you two. Freddie’s waiting for us.”

I couldn’t hold back the groan that emanated from the back of my throat as I fell back into the chair, pouting at Brian who shot me a paternal look that wordlessly expressed _stop your whining and suck it up_. We’d been working ourselves to the bones for this album, and we didn’t even know if it was going to get us anywhere. As cliché as it sounded, our lives depended on the outcome of this. It wasn’t our intention, but we’d given almost everything for this band. One skipped class turned into two, two eventually turned into three, and before we knew it, the four of us stopped showing up to school altogether. Sleep had escaped all of us, our days and nights blurring together as we lost track of time, and we were running on low fuel, which John seemed to think could be replenished with toast and cheese.

“What’s he got planned for us today?” the weirdo eagerly replied, setting his arguably dissatisfying breakfast down on the table and wiping his hands on his boxers.

“Beats me,” Brian answered with a defeated chuckle, turning around and disappearing into the sunlight. I returned my attention to John and found his gaze that had been waiting for mine. An awkward moment of silence passed over us before I heaved a sigh and tapped my hand against the table twice, standing up and slipping my hands into my pants’ pockets.

“Come on, Cheese Toast Boy.” I smirked. “Let’s see what crazy thing Freddie’s going to get us into this time.”

*****

“Where are we, Fred?” Brian questioned from the backseat as our van pulled into the parking lot of what appeared to be a desolated beach. It wasn’t shocking, though, seeing as it was that awkward period between the end of winter and beginning of spring. What was shocking was that Freddie brought us _here_ of all places. The beach was the last place the man wanted to be seen, something about the stares, the indecipherable chatter he pretentiously thought was about him, and the sand getting all in his shoes and clothes.

Freddie shut the car off and turned his head back over his shoulder, a wicked smile plastered on his face. “A place where no one can bother us, my dear.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” John chimed in, shooting one of his damn amused grins across the center console as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“It means we can do whatever the fuck we want, darling!” he replied enthusiastically, pinching the bassist on the cheek and jumping out of the vehicle, running out to the deserted beach and tumbling down into the cold sand like it was a warm field of grass. The three of us left behind shared an annoyed look. Well, at least Brian and I did. John just kind of sat there, looking to us for his next move.

I heaved a sigh and clung to the back of the passenger seat, resting my chin on the top of it and telling him, “You don’t have to follow him if you don’t want to. We all know this is stupid.”

“I-I don’t know,” the frizzy-haired newbie stammered, “I kind of like the idea of taking the day off. Don’t you?”

Brian rested his mane of curls back on the headrest and closed his eyes, muttering, “We all would like a day off, John, but it’s just not—”

“What are you all waiting for?” Freddie’s voice cut the guitarist short, attracting our attention to him as he threw handfuls of sand into the air like it was glitter or confetti. “It’s lovely out here! Come join me!”

John glanced back at Brian and me for a split second before making up his mind and leaving the van, closing the door behind him with an unintentional slam and abandoning the two of us in the backseat. I covered my face with my hands as I mumbled somewhat jokingly, “It’s official, Bri. We've lost him to Freddie.”

“No, I don’t think we have,” he retorted calmly, turning his head to face me and reveal the smirk his lips had formed into, “I actually think he quite fancies you.”

I laughed, meeting his presumptuous gaze. “Me? You think he fancies _me_?”

“Yes, and if I do say so myself, I think you fancy him too. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.” He poked me in my side, throwing me back into the closed van door. His smirk broke out into a full-on grin. “Jumpy much, aren’t we?”

My eyes remained locked on his for what felt like an eternity before I severed the connection, averting my gaze out the windshield to where Freddie and John had ventured towards the body of water, the bottom of their pants cuffed up on their ankles so as to prevent them from getting wet. “What makes you think I fancy him? Of all people, why him? I barely know the lad.”

Brian leaned closer to me to get a better look at the scene and, after enduring the silence that had filled the confined space, murmured, “Rog, I’ve known you for how long? We’re practically brothers. I know it when you like someone and when you don’t.”

“ _Paul_ ,” I instantly growled under my breath, narrowing my stare.

He chuckled. “Yes, Rog. We all know about _Paul_ ; you don’t need to keep bringing him up.” I glanced over at him and his light, almost reminiscent expression darkened. He sat up, effectively widening the shortened distance between him and me, and cleared his throat. “My point is, you’ve been doing this thing for a while—”

“What thing?” I interjected.

Before I could get an answer, the van door behind Brian slid open, revealing a soaking wet Freddie and a relatively dry John – both panting as if they’d just run a marathon. “Boys, you have to take a swim with me,” the dark-haired singer insisted, “It’s absolutely divine!”

“He’s just saying that so someone else will get a cold with him,” John added softly, his eyes finding their way to mine and his cheeks turning an ever so slight shade of red. I wondered if he noticed it like I did, or if Brian did. With the way he was talking, I bet Brian picked up on all the little things like that, he just never told anyone about it.

Freddie gasped and playfully smacked John on the arm, ripping the bassist’s attention away from me. “Liar!” he exclaimed with a false sense of anger, the start of a laughing fit breaking through his facade and getting John to laugh with him.

Brian shook his head and pushed past the two men who had stumbled away from the vehicle, doubled over and leaning on one another as they tried to catch their breaths. I rolled my eyes – unable to hold back the grin that accompanied the gesture – and got out too.


	3. Chapter 3

I sat in the shockingly warm sand, my bare feet buried in the grainy surface and my sunglasses resting on the bridge of my nose, protecting my eyes from the bright glare off the water that approached the beach in small, yet forceful waves. The wind that cut through me and the others like knives made it difficult for me to get comfortable, especially when it prevented me from lighting up. On edge, I tossed the cigarette to the side and heaved a sigh, falling back onto the soft sand behind me and holding my hands over my face to block the sun.

I stayed like that for a little while, listening to and essentially losing myself in my surroundings – the subtle crash of the waves as they hit the shore, the rustling of the leaves on the few trees providing some privacy to the beach, the melodic chatter of the birds as they flew overhead, and the playful banter of my bandmates as they messed around in the shallow water. I felt transported to another place, a place different than the one I’d sadly grown accustomed to – one of ongoing stress, pressure, and the need to get things right. Here, those things seemed nonexistent, unimportant.

“Having fun?” a voice cut through the serenity I’d enveloped myself in, bringing my hands down to my sides and my attention to the silhouette towering over me. The figure was positioned perfectly, blocking the glowing ball in the sky that gave his big hair – though not the biggest in the group – a halo-like effect.

“Oh, so much fun,” I answered sarcastically, crossing my arms over my eyes and hearing the sand crunch beneath him as he sat down beside me, exhaling audibly and pulling his legs into his chest.

John and I sat in silence for a moment or two before he blurted out, “So I’ve been working on this song, but I’m not sure about it.”

“What’s it about?” I inquired.

He paused, earning a quick, curious glance from me as I watched him blush in embarrassment and twiddle his thumbs in front of him. He looked over at me, his eyes squinted, and smiled. “Nothing yet. It…It’s just an idea, not very good.” He returned his gaze to the beach in front of us, where Freddie and Brian had decided to take a walk, the two getting smaller and smaller the farther they walked away from us, talking about who knows what. “Just forget I said anything,” John muttered.

My eyebrows furrowed together as I sat up, leaning forward just a bit to get a better look at my bandmate who instantly averted his gaze away from mine. I pursed my lips to the side in thought and said, “You know, I was nervous about my first song idea too, but if you keep it to yourself—”

“It’s about misfiring,” he interjected, shyly meeting my gaze.

I stared at him blankly. “Misfiring _what_ exactly?”

He turned a bright shade of red, internally debating whether he should explain what he meant to me or drop the topic altogether. Either way, he knew he was done for. Taking a leap of faith and hoping he wouldn’t regret his decision, he whispered embarrassedly, “Down there.”

I chuckled slightly, shaking my head. “You’re going to have be more specific, mate. I’m still not quite understanding—”

“Down _there_ , Roger,” John repeated himself with more emphasis on the second half of the phrase this time around, motioning below his waist. It was the gesture that made it click for me.

My first and immediate reaction was to laugh – very loud and very hard – but I quickly realized it wasn’t the response he was looking for, nor was it the response I intended to give. A look of hurt quickly crossed his face and he stood up, fervently abandoning my side.

I scrambled to my feet and rushed after him, grabbing him by the arm and turning him to face me. He panicked and tore his arm out of my hold, glaring at me with an animosity I hadn’t seen since the day I’d used the last of the Freddie’s eyeliner. I quickly dropped my hand and took a cautious step back from him, explaining, “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. I just—”

“You just what?” he snapped.

“I just…” My voice trailed off as I tried to find the nicest way to finish my thought. I couldn’t, though. He scoffed at me and slipped his hands into his pockets, kicking the sand underneath him. I frowned. “Look, man, why don’t you show me what you’ve got when we get back to home? I’d love to hear it.”

John stood with his back to me for a second or two before turning to me and holding his hand out, the pained expression on his face saying everything his mouth wasn’t. I dug my hand into the back pocket of my pants and extracted the half-empty box of cigarettes, holding it out to him. “Good luck trying to—” The bassist didn’t seem to care what I had to say as he pulled out one of the thin, long, white sticks with his extended hand, and with the other, whipped out a lighter and did what I’d been trying to do since we got here with a sense of effortlessness I envied. He took a long drag and let it out slowly, the smoke that slipped through the small “o” his lips had formed being picked up in the passing breeze.

“I still can’t figure out why I’m here,” he confessed, tapping his hand against his pant leg; embers falling from the scorched end of the cigarette to the sand in an ungraceful dance, the wind taking the glowing bits of burnt paper along with it as it blew by, “I’ve spent months now with the three of you, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why you wanted _me_ – of all people – for your band.”

“Because you’re a good bassist,” I instantly shot back, the connection he failed to see as clear as day for me.

He chuckled. “Sure, but there are thousands of good bassists out there. You could’ve picked anyone, but for some reason, the three of you picked me. It makes absolutely no sense.”

I kept my lips shut as I tilted my head down, tempted to ask him for a hit but knowing it wasn’t the right time. The two of us stood there in silence for a short while before he took another drag and went on to casually say, “It’s the Freddie and Brian show, isn’t it?” The disappointment and lack of purpose was evident in his dull tone, as if he wanted more. In fact, I knew he did, because I felt that way too. Deep down, I always had.

Being the youngest two in the group, it was difficult to be taken seriously when conversations arose about contributing to the band in a more creative way than by merely doing what we were told. _Play this bass line. Keep the rhythm like this. Sing this harmony._ The instructions were near endless, yet John and I executed them with precision and accuracy, taking the relentless corrections in stride.

The older two made it seem like that’s all we were good for – following their orders. Although I’d like to imagine that wasn’t their intention, Freddie and Brian held a sense of superiority over us just because the former had given the spark to the band when we needed it the most and the latter started the band in the first place. John and I, we were just good enough to keep around for now but questionable in quality for the long run. I’d decided when Freddie first joined the band and started taking charge of things that I wasn’t going to let them determine that for me; that I was just as important a member as the other two. It was just a matter of time before John gained the courage to do the same himself.

“Just for now,” I answered his question, crossing my arms over my chest. My eyes hidden by the darkened shades flickered over to where Brian and Freddie had stopped their stroll at the far end of the beach, standing in the warm sun and cool breeze and watching John and me from the distance. I sighed and held my hand out to John, keeping my eyes locked on the pair. The bassist knew immediately what I wanted as he bestowed the burning cigarette into my possession without skipping a beat. I instinctively brought it up to my lips and allowed myself to indulge in the relief I’d been longing for, leaning back into the tingling feeling that quickly spread over my entire body. I grinned and tacked on, “We’ll show them, though.”

“Show them what?”

I stared at the body of water in motion and remembered the brief feeling I experienced while lying in the sand – the relaxation; the lack of worry and concern; the peace. I almost forgot what those things felt like with how routinely stressful my life had become, but being here on this beach, even with John by my side, I felt refreshed, rejuvenated, dare I say, invincible. I turned to meet his gaze, the smile on my face breaking even wider, and replied, “That your song is album worthy.”

John shook his head in disbelief and snatched the cigarette back. “Yeah right.”

“No, really,” I attempted to convince him, “I want to help you write this song, and it’s going to get on the album. Trust me.”

“But Brian said never to trust you,” he murmured, the corner of his lip perking upward ever so slightly.

I rolled my eyes and put my hands up in surrender. “Fine, don’t trust me. See if your song about coming too quickly makes it on the album or not.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed in a defensive sort of manner, lightly shoving me and causing me to almost lose my balance as I stumbled over my feet. I caught myself before I could fall and looked at him with wide eyes, my heart beat starting to pick up. He threw his index finger in my direction and, with a wide grin, mimicked our curly-haired friend as best he could. “Stop being a jerk, Roger.”

I laughed and jumped at him, going to return the playful gesture, but instead of succeeding in making him lose his balance, I brought both of us down to the ground in a fit of giggles, losing my footing and falling on top of him. We continued the small, harmless fight in the sand, trying to gain the upper hand by shouting ill-prepared insults at each other in hopes it would make the other back down, but their purpose served ineffective as we found the insults more humorous than offensive.

At one point, I’d managed to pin John down to the ground, the bassist and I starting to sense the exhaustion from our roughhousing. Our laughter slowly subsided as I used my aching arms to hold me over him, our gazes locking. That feeling from before returned with more intensity this time, and instead of my surroundings becoming acutely aware to me, it was myself I listened intently to – the pounding of my heart against my chest, the warmth that found its way to my cheeks, the short, shallow breaths that escaped from my lips, the voice in the back of my head telling me to follow my instincts, and another voice telling me not to; that we’re not alone.

“Alright, you two, break it up!” Brian’s voice ripped me out of my daze, tearing my attention away from John as he and Freddie approached us. I glanced down at John once more – noting how flushed his skin had become – and quickly picked myself up off him, brushing the sand off my clothes and lending the bassist a helping hand. He hesitantly accepted it and allowed me to pull him to his feet, an awkward tension building between us as the tallest of the four of us wrapped his arms around our shoulders, shifted his gaze from John to me and then back to John, and said, “Let’s get back. We have a lot of work to do.”


	4. Chapter 4

The day had quickly turned into night and I found myself unable to fall asleep, staring at the blank pad of paper in front of me, illuminated by the moonlight shining through the window behind my bed. I chewed the pen cap I’d affixed to the end of the writing utensil, hoping that if I kept ahold of it, it would give me the inspiration I needed. However, every idea I came up with ended up on the floor in a crumpled-up paper ball – not good enough.

My waning attention wandered over to the digital clock that sat on the nightstand in between my bed and John’s, the two of us sharing a room while Freddie and Brian shared the other. Freddie originally insisted on having a room all to himself, but after several heated arguments and constant complaints from the three of us about how uncomfortable it was trying to sleep at night or have any kind of privacy with all of us crammed into the closet the landlord passed off as a bedroom, we finally agreed on splitting the rooms up two and two. The guitarist moved in with singer, leaving John and me to the somewhat lesser crowded hole in the wall. Our beds were so close that some mornings I’d wake up to John’s hand resting on the edge of my mattress, or John would wake up to my blankets thrown on top of him. It wasn’t the most pleasant living situation, but we made it work.

The glowing red numbers on the clock read 03:37, and in less than four hours from now, they’d begin to flash, sending a shrill beeping sound through the small flat’s thin walls and dragging the four of us out of bed one by one – first, Freddie, then Brian, followed by John, and lastly, me. It was like that almost every morning, unless one of us woke up somewhere else – which hadn’t been as frequent an occurrence as it once was with our stricter regiment the singer had implemented. If we weren’t working on writing songs, we were practicing, and if we weren’t practicing, we were out at the clubs getting wasted, or as Freddie like to call it, “inspired.”

Maybe that’s what I needed – a drink.

I tossed the notebook to the foot of my bed in frustration and rolled out of the bed, going to sneak out of the room – my hand wrapped around the cold doorknob, turned halfway – when the creaking of John’s bed hit my ears and froze me in my tracks. I slowly glanced back over my shoulder to see the bassist sitting up on his elbows, a tired expression slathered across his face as he asked drowsily, “What are you doing?”

“I-I couldn’t sleep,” I whispered, the pink that had crept up in my cheeks going unnoticed in the darkness of the room.

His languid gaze dragged itself to the clock that now read 03:42, a groan emanating from the back of his throat and his hand moving back and forth in a lazy, lethargic wave. “Come back to bed,” he grumbled, his body flopping back down on his mattress, “It’s late.”

I stood at the door, contemplating what his offer really entailed. I wanted him to mean something more than the simple command he gave, but deep down, I knew that he didn’t mean what I thought he meant at this hour. He couldn’t; he shouldn’t; he wouldn’t, and so I shook my head and slipped out, softly closing the door behind me and falling back against it as soon as it clicked into place, that panicked feeling I thought I’d left behind at the beach starting to creep its way back.

Memories of the day we’d just had flashed before me – John standing over me, outlined in that heavenly glow from the sun; our hands touching as we passed the cigarette between the two of us, the stick shortening in length with each drag drawn from it; me straddling John as our pointless argument reached its climax, his eyes staring into mine as we wondered the same thing – _What now?_

I frantically rubbed my face with my hands, desperately wanting to get rid of the visions of the past, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what had transpired between him and me. I rushed over to the kitchen sink and turned the cold water on, a scratchy, metallic sound coming from the pipes before water spewed out from the faucet. I cupped my hands under the unsteady stream of lukewarm water and splashed the small pool up to my face, clinging to the counter as I let the water drip down my cheeks and chin into the sink.

“Rog,” I heard softly from behind me, startling me into turning around and spotting John in the doorway, arms folded over his chest and one leg crossed over the other as he leaned against the threshold. “What on earth are you doing?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, the room instantly growing warmer even though I was dressed only in a pair of old pajama pants, the bottoms frayed and barely reaching my ankles. “I told you,” I forced myself to answer, fidgeting with my hands in an attempt to find a comfortable place to put them before deciding to rest them on my hips, “I can’t sleep.”

“What’s keeping you up?” he mumbled as he scratched his crotch through the floral, silk robe he’d thrown on – most likely unbeknownst to Freddie that he’d borrowed it – and shuffled over to the square dining table we had, pulling one of the chairs out and plopping down in it, spreading his legs outward a bit to get comfortable. He turned his head and met my gaze with half-opened eyes, anticipating my response.

I ran a shaky hand through my messy blonde hair and replied, “Uh, I-I’d rather not talk about it, John. Why don’t you just go back to sleep?”

I prayed that he would take the rather blatant hint that I wanted to be left alone, but his judgment must have been just as impaired as mine was this late at night, because he shook his head in refusal. I heaved a sigh of defeat and took the seat across from him, clasping my hands together and setting them atop the table. “My mind’s just a bit restless, that’s all.”

“Thinking about what happened today?” John guessed, dropping his jaw and letting out a yawn he tried to disguise behind the back of his hand. I tilted my head down, unable to bring myself to meet his tired but interested gaze, fearing that I would lose it if I did. “You know, you’re not the only one who felt it,” he confessed softly, his eyes boring into me as he waited for my response that he knew wasn’t going to come. He shifted awkwardly in his seat and continued, “It’s all I could think about since we left the beach.”

“Same here,” I admitted sheepishly, restraining myself to those two words alone as I began to tap my fingers on the linoleum tabletop, the sound carrying through the silence that had been cast over the flat when the sun disappeared behind the horizon.

The steady rhythm my fingers had taken on and the hum of the refrigerator hung heavily over us like a blanket, filling the gap in the conversation that we weren’t sure was going to continue or not. Neither of us would meet each other’s gaze, or rather, I wouldn’t meet his, knowing full well that if I did, I’d have to face the truth. I’d have to admit to my feelings; I’d have to explain them, make them real. I wasn’t ready for that. What if it ruined everything I…everything _we’d_ been working towards?

I snapped back into reality when the sound of the legs of John’s chair scraping against the floor hit my ears, bringing my attention up from my lap and seeing that he’d risen from his seat and was now standing over me, just like he was at the beach – except this time it wasn’t the sun masking most of his features, it was the shadows. He reached his hand out and slipped it underneath my jawline, a comforting warmth transferring from his skin to mine as his thumb swept across my cheek and his bottom lip got caught underneath his front teeth. I stared up at him, waiting for him to say something, or do something. I had no preference, believing either response would provide me at least _some_ kind of solace.

Impatience drove me weary, and as John dwelled on the conflict raging inside of him, the less control I had over myself. Anticipation quickly got the best of me, causing me to jump up from the seat – unintentionally ripping John’s hand away from my cheek – and crashing my lips into his. The kiss was sloppy and unprepared, but well received, John hesitating for only a second before eliminating the distance between the two of us. The moment was short in actuality, but felt much longer as time slowed down and the world around us melted away.

John suddenly pulled away to catch his breath, our inflating and deflating chests mirroring one another’s and his eyes staring down at my still parted lips. Desperate to regain the feeling the kiss had incited, I leaned back in – only to be stopped by John’s hand moving up to my bare chest, sticky with sweat. I stumbled back, my eyebrows knitting together as he retracted his hand to his side, but not before his fingers trailed down my skin, his nails creating faint, white lines as they lightly grazed the surface. We both looked up and, without a saying a word to one another, knew we’d done something we’d never come back from. Whether that something was for the better or worse, I couldn’t tell quite yet.

I crossed my arms over my chest and turned my head to the side, staring at the floor as the bassist brought his hand up and rubbed the back of his neck. After pure silence had fallen over the flat once more, the refrigerator going quiet and my hands tucked underneath my arms, John chuckled slightly. I shot him an angry glare that he didn’t seem to notice as he shook his head and whispered, “That was…”

“A mistake?” I attempted to finish his sentence, regret and guilt starting to build up inside of me as I wondered how we were going to move on from this.

“No,” he objected quite confidently, finally meeting my glare and almost instantly dissolving it as he explained, “It was actually quite incredible.”

I scoffed and sat back down in the chair, resting my elbows on the table and putting my head in my hands. “You’re just saying that because you’re tired,” I tried to convince him _and_ me, “You probably won’t even remember this when you wake up.”

“Well I guess we’ll see if that’s true later, now, won’t we?” he countered teasingly, punching me playfully in the arm as he brushed past me and back to our shared bedroom. I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder, wishing he would turn around and come back to me, enveloping me in his arms and satiating my growing desire for him. A spark of hope ignited inside of me as I watched him glance back, catching a quick glimpse of me before sinking into our room and closing the door behind him with a soft click.

I sat there anxiously – my leg shaking incessantly and my heart pounding against my chest as if it was about to make its grand escape – before I punched the table and jumped up from my seat, rushing into the bedroom after him to find that he’d been waiting for me, standing in the center of the room; in between our two beds. Without saying another word, we met halfway and embraced one another, our lips coming in contact for the second time that night. The two of us stumbled over each other’s feet as we moved ourselves to one of our beds, falling back on it together; all without letting go.


	5. Chapter 5

My eyes fluttered open, my vision blurred by the bright light shining directly in my face. I grunted and brought my hand up, shielding my eyes and turning my head to see an empty, unmade bed beside me – my bed. I quickly turned my head the other way and saw John’s head resting on my shoulder, with his eyes closed and his lips parted ever so slightly. His soft breaths danced across my chest, sending shivers down my spine as the reality of the situation began to sink in for me.

_It wasn’t a dream._

“Oh god,” I muttered, rubbing my hand over my aching eyes before running it through my messy blonde locks and scanning the room for ways to get out of the situation before John woke up, or worse, before Brian and/or Freddie barged in and saw us in bed together. I glanced down at the bassist’s hand resting on my bare stomach, his fingers curled around my side. I frowned and cautiously moved my hand over his, slowly plucking it from my torso. I watched him the entire time, making sure that I didn’t stir him awake, but as soon as I laid his hand down in the space between us, his eyes popped open and scared me out of the bed. John gasped and shot his arms out to catch me, but it was too late, and I fell to the floor with a loud _thud_.

The two of us sat with breaths held and eyes wide, listening carefully for the sounds of our roommates – their footsteps, their quiet chatter, anything. However, after remaining still and keeping our lips tightly sealed, we heard nothing.

“I think we’re good,” John whispered as I groaned and dropped my head back on the hardwood floor, closing my eyes. The bed creaked underneath him as he swung his legs over the side and grabbed my hands, pulling me up off the floor as he stood up and smiling at me. I glared in return, but when I looked down and saw our hands still intertwined, the annoyed expression was replaced by the subtle grin that appeared on my face.

John slipped one of his hands out of our hold and brought it up to my chin, tilting my head up and his gaze instantly being drawn towards my lips. I licked them intuitively as we began to shorten the distance between us, our lips millimeters apart and the electricity we still shared from last night returning with full force. I closed my eyes, smirking as I felt his lips on mine, when the door burst open behind John, startling us away from each other and immediately dissolving the building tension.

“‘Morning, you two!” Brian exclaimed as we disappointedly met his gaze, his arrival occurring at the most inopportune time and his cheerfulness in the morning unwavering as he obliviously continued to tell us, “Freddie’s making breakfast and I’m getting the van ready to hit the studio. Could one of you lend me a hand?” He locked eyes with me and tilted his head to the side, wordlessly implying that he wanted that lending hand to come from me.

I sighed and unenthusiastically stepped forward, brushing past John and snatching up the discarded pair of jeans that were slung over my bed post. I stuck my feet through the legs and pulled the pants over my waist with a small hop, looking back at John who had averted his gaze elsewhere while I zipped and buttoned them up. I returned my attention to Brian and said, “Give me a minute and I’ll be right out.”

Brian nodded his head in understanding, his eyes flickering over to John for a moment before he gave me one last glance, flashed me one more smile, and closed the door behind him. I stayed frozen in place as the guitarist’s footsteps echoed in my ears like drums the further he distanced himself from John’s and my bedroom.

I suddenly jumped at the shock-like sensation that jolted through my entire body out of nowhere, looking back and down to see a clean t-shirt crumpled up on the floor by my feet. I glanced up and saw John back in bed, sitting with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap; the corner of his lip pulled up into a sly, mischievous smirk.

I bit my lip, feeling torn all over again. I knew that if I didn’t leave the room soon and assist Brian in lugging my drum kit to the van, he would grow suspicious – not that he already wasn’t – but I also knew that I’d never been more compelled to stay behind; to finish what John and I had started. My desire was driven by curiosity, the pleasure drawing me in like a magnet as I wondered how much better the pleasure could’ve been had we had more time, or had we been elsewhere, alone.

I couldn’t figure out what it was that sparked my impulsivity. Could it have been that we were both just so desperate for affection and attention that we sought it out in one another? If that were the case, then this would all be easier – a simple misunderstanding that we could laugh about and move on from, but deep down I had a feeling that there was something more to it; that it was something else.

Acting on a whim, I quickly swooped in and kissed him once more, releasing the frustration that had started to form the longer I thought about our situation. He responded immediately, grabbing at me to pull me into bed with him, but before his action could gain any momentum, I gently pushed him away. “Let’s continue this later,” I suggested, choosing to ignore the growing tension in my lower abdomen and backing away, snatching the shirt he’d tossed at me up off the ground, “Okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, his tone a strange mixture of high and low, as if he was choking on something. Perhaps it was the excess of words that longed to follow his rather simple reply, whether it be the request for me to stay or the explanation I’d been dreading but waiting for – that this was a one-time thing that could never happen again. I couldn’t imagine how I would react if the latter were to be true, with the idea so new and fresh to me that I wasn’t ready to part ways with it yet. I’d barely just begun.

I flashed John a tight-lipped grin before slipping the shirt over my head and darting out of the room, meeting Brian at the door as he struggled to get my kickdrum through the threshold. “Here,” I blurted out, catching him off guard as I took the large instrument into my possession and told him, “You get the cymbals; I’ll get the drums.”

“About time you came and helped,” he retorted in a very tongue-in-cheek manner, retreating into the closet we kept my kit in – the set up too big to stay in the common room, let alone be stored in my small bedroom for two. I rolled my eyes and lugged the kickdrum down the stairs and out to our vehicle that Brian had pulled around front. I set the kit piece in the back and pushed it in, turning around to see the curly-haired know-all emerge from the propped-open door, his hands full.  

He met me at the van and I helped by taking one of the cymbals, tossing it in and going to grab the other when I felt resistance. I raised an eyebrow and tried once more to gain possession of the stand, but Brian only tightened his grip. “What the hell, man?” I muttered angrily, “What’s your problem?”

“Your alarm was going off this morning,” he blurted out, his cheeks a deep shade of red.

“And?” I snapped, giving the metal rod another yank and finally ripping it out of Brian’s hands. I glared at him and threw it in beside the other one, going to close the van doors when the guitarist shot his hand out and stopped me. “For fuck’s sake, Bri—”

“I turned it off,” he blurted out, a sudden urgency to his now hushed voice. It didn’t instantly register to me just exactly what he was trying to say, but as soon as it did, my face flushed of all color and my heart dropped to my stomach. I felt his stare begging to be met by mine, taunting me to look over at him and confront the nightmare that had been promoted from its cognitive status to a more tangible, real one.

I blinked away the tears that had begun to form in my eyes and replied as calmly and collectedly as I could’ve. “No wonder I didn’t hear it.” 

“Roger,” he muttered, his voice now pleading for my attention too. I swiped away the stray tear that had rolled down my cheek and finally glanced over at him, placing my hands on my hips and raising my eyebrows in a gesture that told him to carry on. He straightened his slack posture and rested his arm on top of the van door, saying, “Look, I won’t tell Fred—”

“Tell Fred what?” I snapped, my eyebrows knitting together as I waited irascibly for his answer.  

“Roger, I’m not stupid. I know—”

“And _what_ exactly is it that you know, Brian?” I shouted, startling a pair of birds out of their nest in a nearby tree, the two robins singing their song as they flew away. His response wasn’t quick enough for me, and so I yelled again, this time punching the back bumper with a fist, “Well, Brian? What is it?”

The guitarist opened his mouth to respond, but he didn’t get the chance to before Freddie’s voice sounded through the entire neighborhood. “What are you two blokes still doing out there? I slave over the stove all morning for you and you’re outside? Your waffles are getting cold!”

Brian and I exchanged a quick glance, my abrupt outburst gradually subsiding as I gazed into his sympathetic stare, slowly understanding that he didn’t mean to upset me by telling me he’d walked in on the two of us. He never meant to upset anyone; it wasn’t in his nature. He confided in me because he wanted to be honest, knowing that the secret would destroy him just as much as it would me.

I hung my head in shame and listened as Brian closed the vehicle and walked away, his steps reverberating off the pavement and the stretch of flats. At the last minute, I lifted my gaze up from my feet, wanting to call out to him, but just like John’s attempt to save me from falling, I was too late. He’d already disappeared, leaving me alone in the street with my heavy thoughts and guilty conscience.

*****

I sat at my drum kit, my leg restlessly shaking as I stared at a single spot in the studio, Brian’s and my conversation from this morning playing over and over again in my head. He turned my alarm off this morning, he had seen John and me, and he knew.

 _He knew_ , _goddammit. He knew_.

I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve just left it at John touching my cheek. Who knew what would’ve happened had I not leapt out of my chair and kissed him? He could’ve just dropped his hand back to his side, told me he was tired and went back to bed, and that could’ve been the end of it. But no, I had to follow my instincts. I had to let my sudden and still confusing desire get the best of me.

 _You fool_.

“Roger!” Freddie’s voice erupted in my ear, stealing my locked gaze from the wall socket. “Get your pretty little head out of the damn clouds and remember your cues.”

I glanced around the room, spotting Brian and John looking at me in anticipation – the guitarist with his hands on his hips, and the bassist with his arms resting on the body of his instrument that was strapped over his shoulder. I swallowed the nervous lump that had formed in my throat and twirled the drumstick I was holding in my hand, shifting my attention down to the cowbell set up beside me. I positioned the stick over the instrument and saw John shaking his head no out of the corner of my eye.

“What?” I asked, irritated, “Aren’t we working on ‘Lover’?”

“No, dear,” Freddie snarled, his knuckles turning white as his grip on the metal of the mic stand he’d pulled out from its place tightened, “If you were paying attention, you would’ve known what song we were doing.”

“Well, what song are we doing then, your royal highness?” I replied with just as much as sass, folding my arms over my chest and cocking my head to the side. Freddie clenched his jaw and started to cross the room, raising the mic stand like he was a baseball player and the stand was his bat. I jumped up from my seat and tossed my drumsticks over my shoulders, snatching the cowbell and holding it high in preparation for defense.

Brian quickly picked up on what was about to ensue and set his guitar down, rushing over and stopping Freddie and me before we could make contact. “Guys, guys!” he cried struggling to keep us apart as we pushed against his hands that were held up to each of our chests, the two of us shouting overlapping insults at one another and trying to find ways around him. “Put the stuff down, please!” he screamed as his head snapped in John’s direction, his wild eyes asking for assistance. The bassist didn’t take long to intervene, slipping out from behind his bass and running over to help.

He, of course, took it upon himself to remove _me_ from the situation. I didn’t make it easy for him, though, squirming and jumping in his hold and wanting nothing more than to go off on the singer. I wasn't really mad at him; he didn't do anything wrong. The anger had been boiling up inside of me ever since this morning, and Fred became the perfect target when he started coming for me.

“Let me go, John!” I screamed.

“Yes, let him go so I can beat his distracted, unprepared, perky little ass!” the fearless singer snapped back, attempting to break through the barrier Brian had created between him and me.

“We're not letting either of you go until you both calm down,” the guitarist growled, holding his hands out to the sides, his head turning back and forth to keep an eye on both of us. Freddie and I continued to try to break free from our restraints, but they stood their ground, eventually even prying the makeshift weapons from our possessions. As John bent down to set the cowbell on the floor, I took the opportunity to escape. However, instead of attacking Freddie like I could tell Brian was expecting – seeing the terrified expression that appeared on his face as he watched me stumble forward – I simply left the room, needing to clear my head; to regain my composure that I hadn't had since I woke up.

In the hallway, I began to pace and take deep breaths – _in, out, in, out_ – but it didn’t take me long to find the relaxation technique unhelpful. I stopped myself abruptly and punched the wall, instantly regretting my decision and clasping my throbbing hand in the other. I grunted in pain and fell against the wall, frowning at my reddening fist. The door I slammed behind me on my way out of studio clicked open shortly after, but I didn't care to look up to see who it was. That didn’t stop them from approaching me, though, their footsteps pattering across the floor as the person joined my side.

“I don't like this feeling,” I confessed exhaustedly, keeping my attention on my hands that I’d started to rub together anxiously, the pain eliciting a brief, sudden gasp from me.

“You think I like it any better?” the one voice I didn’t want to hear responded. I quickly glanced up to meet John’s empathetic gaze, his remorseful face angering me more than hearing his concerned voice did. I scoffed and peeled myself from the wall, heading towards the door at the end of the hallway. “Roger, come on!” he exclaimed, quickly following after me, “What’s going on?”

“What does it look like?” I yelled, pushing forward and ramming my body into the door, breaking out onto the street cast in sunlight and starting down the sidewalk. I didn’t get very far before he caught up with me and grabbed me by the arm, unsuccessful in his attempt to turn me around to follow him back as I, for the second time that day, tore myself out of his grasp.

I popped the collar of the jean jacket I’d adorned myself with earlier and continued to my undetermined destination, leaving John in the dust, all without saying another word to him. After all, he was the reason I seemed to be unraveling at the seams. If Freddie had never introduced us to him, and if we never asked him to be part of our band, I wouldn’t be in this place right now.

_It was all his fault._


	6. Chapter 6

Having no particular place in mind for my escape and not caring enough to locate a place Freddie, Brian, or John wouldn’t be able to find me had they decided to come searching for me, I ended up in a bar that was a few blocks down the street from the studio. I hated places like this, but there was one thing I didn’t mind – the game.

It was something Tim had come up with, a little competition he would enlist us all in to see who could get the most women to buy them drinks; bonus points if you managed to take one of them home, and even more if you managed to take home multiple. Tim was a natural at the game, perhaps because it was of his own creation, but once I got the swing of it, I surpassed him as the winner night and night again, earning the most bonus points of anyone he’d ever played with before.

Eventually my interest in the game had diminished, as does happen with any good game that’s played one too many times. The drinks lost their edge, and as a result, the women lost their appeal. It had become so routine that the game was no longer fun, evolving into a never-ending cycle of drinking myself into oblivion and waking up the next morning to someone I didn’t even remember meeting. Even Tim at one point had grown weary of the repetitiveness. However, just because we stopped playing the game didn’t mean I’d forgotten how to play.

I meandered over to the bar and slipped onto one of the open stools, nodding at the bartender to grab his attention. The clamor of the music and conversations was near deafening, forcing me to repeat my order four times – the last one nearly screamed. I heaved a sigh as the man left to go prepare my drink, allowing me time to scan the crowd of faces surrounding me. There was surprisingly a good number of people for the middle-of-the-day crowd, good-looking people too.

_This is going to be a piece of cake_ , I thought to myself, looking for the right person or group I could blend in with. All I had to say was that I was a drummer and I’d be in; it drove the ladies absolutely mad.

Before I even had the chance to lay on the charm, though, a subtle tap brought my attention over my shoulder, and my eyes fell upon a pair of beautiful deep brown eyes and choppy, black bangs. “What’s a handsome chap like you doing in a place like this at two in the afternoon?” she greeted in a cheeky, teasing manner, twirling a piece of her dark hair around her finger and raising her eyebrows in anticipation of my answer.

“I don’t know,” I replied suavely, spinning around on the stool to face her and leaning against the bar, the corner of my lip perking up into a sly smirk, “I could ask the same about a pretty girl like you.”

A blush crept up in her cheeks as she ran her hand up my arm and rested it on my shoulder, eliminating the short distance between her and me and whispering in my ear, “I think you already know the answer to that.”

I forced my smirk into a smile and tickled her chin with the knuckle of my finger, following through the motions I hadn’t played out in what felt like forever. The actions came second nature to me, with my body acting separate from my mind which was blaring like the alarm clock that I didn’t hear go off this morning, screaming at me that I shouldn’t be doing this; that I should just go back to the studio and play the damn song Freddie wanted to play. However, my pride was more important. I couldn’t go back there and let the drama queen boss me around like he had been. It’d be a bad example for John.

_John,_ the man who’d turned my whole world upside down in a matter of a few days; who’d become the fixation of my thoughts, the bane of my existence, or at least everything I thought I knew. Was it his intention? I hoped not, because if it was, what did I do to deserve this kind of torture? Welcome him into my band? Share my room with him? Offer support when the other two didn’t?

“Where are your friends?” she asked me, her now louder voice ringing in my ear and bringing me out of the daze I had fallen into while staring into her eyes.

I shifted uncomfortably on the stool, answering, “Oh, you know, they’re out and about, having fun without me.”

“Who says you can’t have fun too?” the stranger whose name I had yet to learn replied, bending down and pulling a pack of cigarettes out from her tall, knee-high boot, all the while keeping her eyes locked on mine. I watched intently as she extracted a single slim, white stick out of the package and ran it across her slightly parted lips seductively. I tugged at the collar of my jacket as she positioned the golden end perfectly in the center of her now pursed lips, the white end sticking out towards me. Her fingers slipped under the top of her shirt, her hand revealing a lighter she’d hidden in her bra. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, she lit the white stick on fire and blew the breath of smoke she took in to the side, offering me the cigarette with a wide grin.

I snatched the guilty pleasure out of her hold and mirrored her actions, letting my head fall back into the relaxation that almost instantly began to spread throughout my entire body. We shared a few more drags before the girl plucked the stick out from between my fingers and set it down in the ash tray on the bar, grabbing my hands in hers and dragging me out onto the dance floor that was populated just the right amount – not too crowded so that with every step you made, you bumped into someone, but not too empty so that you felt like an outcast, attracting everyone’s attention since you were the only one out there.

The mystery girl didn’t give me the choice to return to the bar as she took lead, moving me with her as she swayed and jumped and grinded to the beat of the song pumping through the bar’s speakers, stopping only to steal drinks from the trays that passed by – one for her and one for me. Hours passed by and I found myself in that unfortunately familiar blurred, near-unconscious state of mind I thought I’d grown too old for.

_How wrong I was._

Lights passed overhead as she and I stumbled down the sidewalks that were cast in the dark of the night, speaking in incomprehensible phrases that only we understood and laughing our heads off at everything being said. Only quick glimpses of what I saw made up the rest of the distance from the bar to what I realized when I woke up the next morning was her apartment – the glow of the stoplight turning from red to yellow and then green, the homeless man telling us he’d do anything for a pound, and the couple with their pants and their underwear around their ankles in the alleyway.

I fell against the exterior of her flat and watched in admiration as she struggled to get her key into the lock. She swore under her breath, cursing at herself for making the wait even longer. I smiled at her and reached my hand out, the girl evading my touch by just a second as she finally unlocked the door and slipped inside. I rolled around the threshold and stumbled over the small rug she had at the door, catching myself on the coat rack. My mishap elicited a giggle from the shadows, followed by a pair of hands reaching out and pulling me into the darkness.

My vision didn’t adjust quick enough for me to prepare for the pair of lips that crashed into mine, or the fingers that slipped underneath the waistband of my jeans. Had my inhibitions not been lowered or the fire inside of me ignited, there was a good chance I wouldn’t have melted into the moment so readily. With the alcohol that coursed through my veins, numbing my brain and causing me to abandon all control over myself, I let my woman of the night drag me into her bedroom and roughly throw me down on her bed, intensifying the inebriated lust that filled the room the entire night.

By the time the morning had rolled in, John and our situation had become a distant memory. The alcohol and the stranger, whose name was still a mystery to me, did their job. I almost didn’t remember what sent me into the spiral that landed me in bed next to the dark-haired girl, and I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for her alarm clock. The obnoxious beeping popped my eyes wide open, the sound sparking a deep indignation and causing me to drop my hand down onto the device, wrapping my fingers around it and yanking it out from the wall. I relinquished my hold of the clock and groaned, my hand falling back on my forehead as my chest rose and fell from the deep breaths I had taken.

I didn’t feel right in this environment, even though it’s one I’d been in several times before. The thought of leaving never bothered me like it did this time around. _Just get up and leave_. It should’ve been as easy as that, yet for some reason, I found myself plastered to her mattress, weighed down by my concern about facing the guys again – namely John.

A soft moan pulled me out of my thoughts, my attention being brought down to the stranger who repositioned herself closer to me, her limbs pinning me down as if they would keep me next to her. However, I’d become somewhat of a pro at leaving before the girls woke up, no matter how close or far away they were from me.

I slipped out of the bed and began searching the floor for my discarded clothes. Dressed only in my jeans and matching jean jacket, with my underwear tucked into my back pocket and my t-shirt still nowhere to be found, I heaved a defeated sigh and prepared to leave with what I had. Before I could get far, a soft “Leaving already?” stopped me dead in my tracks. I closed my eyes in disdain and slowly reopened them, looking back at the stranger whose bare body was hidden beneath the blankets draped over her.

“Band practice,” I told her, flashing her an apologetic smile. “I would love to stay, hon, but—”

“Oh, spare me the script,” she replied with a playful roll of her eyes, “You don’t need to act like I mean something to you. I’ve played this game with guys like you before. Forget about me and go home to your girl; tell her that you love her even though you don’t mean it.”

My eyebrows furrowed at her comment – _your girl_ – as I watched her sit up and roll over, pulling open the nightstand drawer and sifting through its contents before finding a cigarette. She glanced back over her shoulder at me, matching my baffled expression. “What are you still doing there?”

“I-I don’t know,” I stammered nervously. _What_ was _I still doing there?_

“Well…bugger off,” she murmured sassily, lazily waving her hand at me as she tucked the white stick between her lips and reached back into the drawer, presumably looking for something to light it. “You know where to find me for next time,” she told me, her voice strained as she struggled to keep the cigarette pinned in place and grew anxious the longer she went without it being lit.

I approached the bed and held out the lighter I had in my pocket, attracting her attention. She leaned forward as I sparked a flame atop the handheld tool, saying, “But I never caught your name.”

The dark-haired girl inhaled deeply, plucking the cigarette from her lips and expelling a cloud of smoke through the space between them. “Dominique,” she replied provocatively.

The corners of my lip perked up into a small grin as I pocketed the lighter. “Roger.”

“Well, Roger, I hope we meet again someday.” She took another drag, holding this one a little longer than the first, and smiled. I felt the warmth grew in my cheeks as I turned away and left the room, stopping right as I wrapped my hand around the aged brass doorknob when Dominique’s voice emanated from the bedroom, “Tell your girl I said hello!”

_Your girl_.

I didn’t have a girl. In fact, I hadn’t had one in a while. Of course, she didn’t know that. She was merely used to the stereotype of “guys like me,” the ones who sneak around behind their girlfriends’ or wives’ backs, seeking pleasure elsewhere because it’s ceased to exist at home. I was different though. That pleasure was still very much alive for me, but instead of it coming from a woman, it came from a man – John.

“I-I will,” I called back, smirking at the thought of going back to the flat and telling John about my previous night, ending the grand story with the revelation that I didn’t want to keep living this lie.

I wanted him, and I was going to be with him if it’s the last thing I did. 


	7. Chapter 7

It took me all morning to return to the flat, the distance from Dominique’s apartment to my destination much greater now that I was sober and feeling the consequences of spending the better half of yesterday accepting and downing every drink I could get my hands on. The bright sun hung high in the sky, intensifying my headache that seemed to grow with each step I made and – if I was lucky – masking the dirty looks that were thrown my way.

The people I crossed paths with didn’t even have to know me to know what the last twelve-or-so hours of my life consisted of. All they needed was my appearance, which I became increasingly aware of with each shop window I passed by – the unkept blonde locks disguising the hickeys that stained my neck, the fresh scratches stretched across my exposed chest, and the waistband of my underwear peaking out from inside my pants’ pocket.

I was an absolute mess.

The lengthy trip I had across town to get to the guys’ and my place allowed me time to attempt to fix myself up, but my efforts proved worthless as I was greeted upon my arrival with a snarky, “Someone had fun last night.” The voice hit my ears like nails on a chalkboard and sent a shudder down my spine, belonging to neither Brian, Freddie, or John. Rather, it belonged to _him_.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” I growled, slamming the door shut behind me to express my distaste in the man’s presence.

“Your friend invited me,” the unwanted visitor answered in a mocking, pretentious manner, folding his arms across his chest and straightening his cocky posture ever so slightly. My eyes narrowed in resentment, the thought that any of the three men I almost considered family would willingly extend an invitation out to _him_ boiling my blood like no tomorrow.

His eyes flickered to the spot in the room over my shoulder, his lips curling up into sly grin as I turned around and saw John standing in the threshold between the common room and the kitchen, his eyes wide and his hands wrapped around two steaming cups of tea. “Roger. You’re here.”

“And where else would I be, John?” I retorted bluntly, crossing my arms and maintaining the increasingly disappointed and irritated expression that appeared on my face the second my eyes fell upon him. I nodded my head once in a taunting manner, spitting out a vile, “Go on. Humor me.”

He nervously cleared his throat and looked down at his feet, whispering, “I don’t know. I-I was worried about you yesterday.” He dared to meet my angry gaze. “Freddie and Brian were too…after Freddie calmed down, of course.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure they were,” I snarled, silence falling over the room as I waited for his apology that was never going to happen, for he didn’t know he did anything wrong. But I did. Brian and Freddie did too, and I’m surprised they didn’t advise him against his decision. What surprised me even more was the fact that they knew each other. Of all the pricks in London, how did John come to know _him_?

“So, where were you last night, Rog?” _he_ interjected, attracting my glare that encouraged him to go on and say, “I quite missed you and your witty remarks.”

“Oh, I bet you did, _Paul_ ,” I hissed, clenching my hands into fists by my sides as I tried my best to refrain from going off on him and his stupid, mischievous grin. I’d done enough of that yesterday, and I really wasn’t searching for a second home visit to Dominique this soon, or at all for that matter. Last night was fun, a type of fun I hadn’t had in a while, but there was a reason why I’d stopped playing Tim’s game; a reason that solidified itself last night and this morning.

Just as the tension in the room began to peak, the bassist brushed past me, bumping shoulders with me along the way. Whether the gesture was intentional or unintentional was beyond me, but it enraged me nonetheless, especially when he sat right next to Paul, offering the extra cup of tea to him. My mortal enemy gladly accepted the drink and glanced over at me, locking his eyes with mine as he and John mirrored one another, simultaneously taking sips of the hot beverages and setting them back down on the little saucers John had brought them out on. My leg began to shake, and my heart started to pound against my chest. Why did _he_ have to be here? Why _him_ of all people?

“So, John,” I blurted out, catching him mid-sip, “How did you and Paul meet?”

The two looked at each other, as if telepathically discussing what story he should tell. I impatiently placed my hands on my hips and started to tap my foot, waiting. John returned his attention to me and answered simply, “We met a while ago.”

“At a club,” Paul added, draping his arm over the bassist’s shoulders and bringing the two of them closer together, a spark of fury igniting inside of me. “He was on the dancefloor all by himself, and so I thought I’d give him some company.” He tapped John on the nose, whose face in turn scrunched up before he playfully pushed the two apart, moving himself a bit closer to the end of the couch and taking another sip of tea.

“How…cute,” I choked out, trying not to lose my temper that was slowly rising. The longer I stared at them, the more upset I became. This morning wasn’t supposed to go down like this.

I was supposed to walk through the door to see John sitting on the couch, not Paul. I was supposed to tell him all about my one-night stand with Dominique, not hear about how John and Paul had danced together at some night club. I was supposed to confess my feelings to him, not watch in horror and disgust as Paul made it clear that he had feelings towards John too. And I’d be damned to let Paul hurt me again.

I heaved an aggravated sigh and slipped my hands into my pants pockets, saying, “Hey, John? Can I talk to you, in private?”

“Sure, Rog,” he answered, getting up from the couch and following me into the bedroom hallway, where I brought him into our room and closed the door behind us. I spun around to face him and saw that he’d sit down at the foot of his neatly-made bed, hands clasped in his lap and unreadable eyes locked on mine. “So, what did you want to talk about?” he asked.

I staggered over and plopped down on the mattress beside him, hanging my head in avoidance of his gaze and muttering, “Why are you doing this to me?”

A chuckle escaped from his mouth, followed by a, “What am I doing to you, Roger?”

“Don’t patronize me,” I grumbled, “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m afraid I don’t—”

“Him,” I whispered sharply, throwing my hand in the direction of the door, motioning to what – or rather, _who_ – hid behind it, “Why did you invite him here? Of all the people you could’ve brought to your bed last night, why him?”

John’s emerald green eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his eyebrows coming closer together. “Is that what you think of me; what you _honestly_ think of me?” he inquired, standing up from the bed to create space between us. I opened my mouth to answer, but before a response could form, the bassist added with a newfound agitation, “I’m not the one who abandoned his bandmates at the studio all because he missed his stupid entrance! You are!”

I shook my head in disbelief, trying to explain as calmly as I could, but ultimately coming off as terse, “That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about, Roger?” he snapped, folding his arms over his chest, “Because if I recall correctly, I was here last night with my friends. You still haven’t said where _you_ were, though.”

I stared at him for what felt like a long time, the rage that had once subsided returning with full force. Even now knowing what he’d done, he showed no remorse. It was like what happened between us didn’t even happen; like we were still just bandmates who shared a small bedroom and made a mistake one night.

I picked myself up from the foot of the bed and shortened the distance between him and me, answering him coldly, “I dragged myself to a bar and went home with one of the girls I met there. She took me back to her place and we fucked _all night long_.” I put emphasis on the last three words, pausing briefly in between each one to let them really hit John where it hurt. “Is that what you wanted to hear, John?” I jeered, our faces so close I couldn’t focus on him. “Huh?”

The electricity between us was undeniable, and the draw to crash our lips together and entangled one another in each other’s arms was strong. It made me weak, and I felt myself being pulled towards him, the rage inside of me started to dissolve as the thought of embracing him like I did that previous night enticed me.

He felt it too; I know he did. His breaths started to sharpen, and his hands began to twitch by his sides as he fought with himself to resist the temptation. Our lips were almost touching; we were so close to finishing what we’d started. All was going to be forgiven, until he pulled away.

I looked at him with desperate eyes, wordlessly screaming at him to ravish me, to toss me down on the bed and destroy me like I knew he wanted to. However, my plea went unheard, or most likely ignored, as he shook his head and left the room, shutting the door behind him with a bit of force – not too much so that it slammed, but not too little where the action went unnoticed.

I rushed out into the hallway, chest inflating and deflating with urgency as I watched him walk away. He didn’t look back; he didn’t say anything more. He didn’t even return to the common room to rejoin Paul’s side. He just left, straight out the door.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So I usually only update once a week on Wednesday, but today's my birthday and I have the day off, so I thought I'd give you two updates this week :) Hope you like it, and thanks for reading!

Days went by with no sign of John, and I started to wonder if he was ever going to come back. The empty bed beside mine that I woke up to every morning and fell asleep to every night, the open seat at the small dining table for four that I stared at every time I sat down to eat, and the lack of bass during our band practices that we tried our best to work past were all just sad, painful reminders of how I’d pushed him away.

Brian, having that sixth sense I didn’t know whether to appreciate or despise, noticed and tried to convince me it wasn’t my fault; that it wasn’t anything I did. I knew what I’d done, though. I was there; Brian wasn’t. I watched him walk out; Brian didn’t.

I quickly found it unbearable to even just be in our bedroom, the bed whose sheets were still pulled tight and tucked underneath the edges of the mattress taunting me like a high school bully. To get away, I started to spend my nights on the roof, alone. Luckily the air was warm, and whoever had lived here before the four of us had left behind a single lawn chair. With the lighter and the pack of cigarettes I made sure to shove in my pockets every time I climbed out on the balcony and scaled the ladder that led up to the rooftop, I had everything I needed.

I was up there one night, with the lull of the battery-powered radio I had smuggled from Freddie and Brian’s room keeping me company. The wind had picked up over the course of the day, lifting the hair off my shoulders and suspending it in the air. With shaky hands and a cigarette pinned between my lips, I struggled to bring the lighter’s weak flame to the end of the stick. “Come on, come on!” I muttered frustratedly under my breath, my whole body beginning to tremble in withdrawal.

“Here,” a voice sounded from behind me, startling me and causing me to drop the lighter and white stick to the ground. I looked back over my shoulder to see John, hand extended outward with an already burning cigarette pinched between his fingers. The shadows of the night masked the small grin that appeared on his face as I snatched the stick from his grasp and quickly put it up to my lips, deeply inhaling the nicotine and sinking back into the lawn chair.

I slumped down and let out a sigh of relief, the smoke that slipped past my slightly parted lips getting caught in the breeze as John joined my side, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes locked on at the stretch of apartment buildings and houses in front of us. “How’d you know I was up here?” I grumbled, tapping the cigarette against the arm of the chair.

“You left our bedroom window wide open,” he replied honestly, glancing down at me and smirking. “And I heard your cassette. Your playing and your voice are very…distinct.”

I slowly shot a glare in his direction, keeping my eyes on him as I reached my hand out and silenced the radio. A disappointed look crossed his face as I took another long drag and held it in. He took a few steps forward and heaved a sigh, going on to say, “You know, Roger, I’ve never met anyone like you before.” I glanced up at him and exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching him with tired eyes as he furthered the distance between us, grabbing onto the iron bar that wrapped around the roof’s edge and looking down at the street below. “You’re different.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I inquired, taking offense to his comment and rising from my seat to slowly walk over to where he stood.

He turned his head, his lips parted as if he was ready to answer me, but no words came out. He just…looked at me. Staring back, I brought the cigarette to my mouth and went to draw in another breath of nicotine when John smacked the white stick out of my hand. I went to snap at him for wasting yet another perfectly good cigarette, but he robbed me of the chance by pulling me close and having his lips meet mine in a swift, almost natural motion.

My eyes widened in surprise as I felt John push against me, trying to get me to follow his lead. It didn’t take much convincing, though. With his lips pressed against mine, my eyelids fell and the tension in my body melted away, along with our surroundings. It was as if we were only two people out at this hour.

Wanting to deepen the moment, I brought my hands that had unconsciously found their way to his shoulders down his chest, my fingers teasing the buckle of his belt. Without skipping a beat, I undid the accessory holding his pants up and tore it out from the belt loops. John was so skinny that there was no need to pull his pants down – gravity took care of that for me.

He pulled away and looked down to see that he’d been exposed, the corner of his lips perking up into a smirk as he intertwined his fingers with mine and stuck my hand into his underwear, placing it right on himself. I couldn’t help but gasp as he returned his attention to me, the smirk on his face widening into a suggestive grin.

“You’re the only guy who’s done this to me,” he whispered, his statement packed with pleasure as he began to guide my hand up and down, “ _That’s_ what I meant when I said you’re different.”

I slowly met his gaze, my breathing starting to pick up as I began to continue the motion on my own – another motion that seemed to come about naturally. Allowing instinct to take over, I leaned in and kissed him sloppily, quickening the pace at which my hand moved and unraveling John more than either of us anticipated; it was evident in his moan that was muffled by my mouth, my name coming out in a strained murmur. He barely could spit out the warning “Rog!” before he came, gripping onto my shoulders as his body gave in to the sensation.

He fell against me as he finished, the two of us stumbling backwards into the railing and panting in exhaustion from the unexpected intensity of the moment. I retracted my sticky hand from his underwear and wiped it on my denim button down, looking over my shoulder and out at the street in search of a pair of surveilling eyes. God forbid anyone saw us, or even heard us. It wasn’t like we put forth any effort into masking our presence.

My paranoid attention was stolen by a tug at my waist, my eyes being drawn down to John who’d gotten down on his knees and had undone the button and zipper on my jeans. A lustful haze filled his eyes as he grinned up at me, pulling my pants lower and taking my underwear with them. The fear that accompanied the surprise the action elicited pushed me back into the railing and extracted a worried, “What are you doing?” from the back of my throat.

“Well there’s two of us, isn’t there?” he sneered, placing his hands on my thighs and smiling, “’Wouldn’t be very fair if I left you like this.” My eyebrows knit together as I watched him give my pants and underwear one final yank – unveiling the erection that had formed – and lean in. My eyes rolled back in my head in ecstasy, a moan almost immediately building up in my throat.

I tightly gripped onto the railing as my head dropped back, my lip getting caught underneath my teeth as I attempted to stifle the groan that wanted so desperately to escape. However, the task became daunting as John’s teasing turned into something more, his gaze directed up at me as he watched me bask in the pleasure that had taken over my entire body, his smooth movements keeping steady.

I felt myself reaching the high and instinctively grabbed onto his hair. The moan I’d been holding back found its way out as I climaxed, the sound disguised by the slamming of a window. I held onto John as he pulled back and stood up, bringing his pants back up and glancing back over his shoulder. “What was that?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt before securing his pants around his waist.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, lazily grabbing at his face and bringing his attention back to me as I broke out into a smile, laughing a bit. “John, I…I just…I can’t…I-I thought you were never going to come back.”

He smiled, his grin wearier than mine as he replied, “I just wanted to find a good way to show you that nothing happened between Paul and me. He and I, we’re just friends, Roger. But you and me…we’re more than that.” He brought his hand up and tucked a piece of my blonde hair – weighed down by the sweat dripping down my face – behind my ear, a blush creeping up in his cheeks before he clarified, “We just can’t have anyone know.”

The pure bliss that had washed over me quickly subsided at his words, wiping away the smile that stretched from ear to ear. “What?”

“It’ll just cause trouble,” John explained as calmly as he could, tilting his head down and taking my hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over my knuckles as he carefully structured his next few sentences. “We’re in a band, Roger. We live with two other guys who are _also_ in that band. If there’s any chance of us making it…in any sense…we can’t have the public knowing about us, and neither can they.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder, indicating he was talking about Brian and Freddie as if I couldn’t make that connection on my own. “It’ll just complicate things more than they already are.”

Anger quickly began to replace what was once lust, but I knew I couldn’t go off on him – not again. I didn’t think I could handle another day without him around, let alone several. So, rather, I opted to fix my clothes and sulk back over to the lawn chair where my cigarette and lighter still lied by the feet. I scooped them up and plopped down in the chair, taking the opportunity the settled air had offered me to finally light it. I shakily let out the smoky breath and said sharply, “So, what? You came up here to get it out of your system? Was that it?”

John frowned, upset I didn’t understand the situation like he did. What he didn’t seem to understand, though, was why _I_ was upset. Perhaps it was because, before that dreadful night – that night whose events I played over and over again in my head – there was no indication that we had feelings towards each other. In fact, no one could tell how John felt towards _any_ of us.

Before we all moved in together, he would just show up for practice, do as he was told, and then leave when we were done. He wouldn’t join us for the post-practice night at the bar, and he wouldn’t hang out with us at school either, but he’d never miss a practice. He was always there, always on time, and always ready to follow Brian and Freddie’s orders. It was only when the four of us found this apartment that we finally were able to get a better grasp on him.

Even then, our grasp was minimal. Most of the time, when we weren’t busy working on songs or scrambling to make the apartment presentable enough to pass our landlord’s monthly inspection, he would sit on the couch or at the table by himself, reading the newspaper, plucking away at his bass, or scribbling ideas down in his notebook.

It was only in the one-on-one encounters we’d have where we would learn something new about him, and usually those encounters only happened with the other two, not me. Why that was is beyond me; Freddie and Brian never reported anything regarding me during our late-night meet-ups after John would go to bed and the three of us would stay up, trying to figure out the guy. It seemed we could never come to a conclusion, and it was possible we never would.

“What do you want me to do, John?” I asked when I realized he had nothing to say, his arms folded over his chest and his head hung low. “Do you want me to act like this isn’t a thing?” I chuckled sadly, remembering the day in the studio like it was yesterday. “Because you saw how well that went last time. I can’t.”

“You’ll have to,” he conveyed, meeting my gaze, “It’s the only way.”

“Well what if I don’t want to?” I snapped.

John walked up to me and slipped his hands underneath my jawline, murmuring with a mixture of endearment and seriousness, “Roger, please. We’ve been good so far, and we haven’t done anything we’ll regret. Let’s keep it that way.”

I pushed him away from me and shook my head in disbelief, chuckling at myself for being so stupid. “So, this _was_ just to get it out of your system – one and done. I see how it is.”

“Roger, stop!” he cried as I jumped up from the seat and crossed the roof to the other side, my back turned to him and the cigarette to my lips once more. “I like you, and I like this! I really do! It’s just—”

“It’s just what, John?” I yelled with complete disregard to the sleeping neighborhood and the bandmates who were only a floor beneath us, blowing out a breath of smoke and turning around to face him, “You just told me that you think of us as something more than friends, and then you tell me that you want me to act like there’s nothing going on between us? I’m not that kind of person, John! I don’t keep things to myself. I can’t!”

“Then it looks like you’re going to have to learn,” he retorted bluntly, brushing past me and grabbing my ass along the way, freezing me in my place and leaning in close to whisper, “Especially if you want this to happen again…and I _really_ hope you do.” I met his gaze with glistening eyes, trying to do alone what Freddie, Brian, and I have been attempting to do together for months now.

I leapt in surprise when his hand squeezed my cheek, followed by a quick slap and the departure of his presence from my side. I spun around and watched as he disappeared over the side of the building, vanishing from my sight and leaving me in complete and utter awe.

_What just happened?_


	9. Chapter 9

Admittedly, I was afraid to leave the roof that night. I was terrified, albeit a little curious, to return to John’s and my bedroom, wondering what I might enter upon. All the cigarettes in the world couldn’t ease my nerves as I hypothesized the possible situations that would play out as soon as I slipped through that window.

John could still be awake, waiting for me to come down. He could be sitting in his bed, blankets covering his lower half and his clothes strewn on the floor. He could be leaning against the wall, clothes on and hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He could be lying on my bed, completely naked and bending his finger back and forth, luring me in.

Or he could be asleep, curled up under the covers of his bed, their previous neatness and orderliness disturbed by his presence. He could be snoring softly, getting the rest he deserved after the exhausting activities we had partaken in outside. He could be muttering incomprehensible phrases under his breath, phrases I would try to make sense of in my insomniac state but fail at doing so.

I couldn’t determine which scenario would be worse, and after I’d smoked through the whole pack of cigarettes I’d brought up with me and the battery in the radio had lost its juice, I decided it was time to face my fears. I couldn’t stay up on the roof forever; it’d be illogical. That, and the sun had started to peak over the horizon.

I jumped off the last rung of the ladder and saw that John had left the window open for me, the pane propped up by the spare box of cigarettes I’d had in the nightstand drawer. I smirked as I snatched the box out of its place and pushed the window up further, creating enough room for me to slide in. When I landed on the floor, my eyes were immediately drawn to John’s bed, and much to my relief, he was fast asleep. I smiled.

I closed the window, being sure to not make a sound, and threw the box of cigarettes back into the drawer. I slipped into my own bed, the mattress creaking as I attempted to get myself comfortable, settling for the position in which I laid on my side, hands tucked underneath my pillow, and my eyes locked on the back of John’s head, his long hair frizzy from before and from tossing and turning in bed.

“Okay, John,” I whispered to him even though I knew he wasn’t listening, my cheeks growing warm and the corners of my lips forming a small, closed-lipped grin, “I’ll learn.”

*****

I lazily dropped the end of my drum stick on the head of the snare, a quiet rattle echoing throughout the studio as I tiredly stared at Freddie and Brian sitting across from me, arguing over “Lover.” Brian wanted to change the name and the lyrics to “Liar,” and Freddie wasn’t having any of it since it was _his_ song. They’d been fighting over it for almost an hour, leaving John and me with nothing to do but to wait for them to either come to an agreement or blow up at one another.

“Come on, Freddie,” Brian tried to persuade the stubborn singer, “It’ll sound better! Trust me!”

“Okay,” Freddie snapped, crossing his arms over his chest for only a second or two before sassily throwing one hand towards Brian, “Say we _do_ change it to ‘Liar.’ Who’s going to get credit for the song then?”

I rolled my eyes and looked over at John, tuning out the sound of the singer and guitarist’s building argument that was leading towards the latter predicted outcome. I could tell John had done the same, taking a seat on the edge of one of the amps and leaning forward with his elbows resting atop his knees, the body of his bass tucked between his arms and his torso and his eyes locked on a spot on the floor.

“Psst,” I whispered, my attempt to talk with him going ignored. “Hey, John,” I tried again, this time a little louder but still with no response. I heaved a sigh and raised the drumstick over my shoulder, getting my aim just right before flicking it at him. He flinched as the stick hit him on the head, a slightly pained gasp escaping from his lips as he returned to reality and began to rub the side of his face. I brought my hand up to my mouth, disguising the grin that appeared in response to his reaction.

John shot a glare in my direction, the expression quickly dissolving into a smile as he snatched the wooden stick that had ricocheted off his head and landed on the floor by his feet and flung it right back at me, but with much more force than I had used. I leaned to the side to dodge the assault, but he missed me entirely and the drumstick clashed with the cymbal, interrupting Freddie and Brian’s heated disagreement with a shrill clatter. John and I froze, trying to hold back our laughter as the other two looked over at us, quite unpleased.

“What are you two doing over there?” Brian muttered curiously, the corner of his lip unconsciously perking up into a smirk.

I straightened my posture and replied cheekily, “Waiting for two divas to stop fighting over one word. What about you two?”

“Very funny, Rog,” Freddie growled, standing up from his spot on the couch and motioning for Brian to follow him out into the hallway so they could continue their dispute –free of interruptions. Brian rolled his eyes and dragged himself out of the studio with the Freddie, stopping in the doorway and putting his finger up to his head in the shape of a gun. The two of us shared a small grin before the guitarist was yanked away by the singer.

As soon as the door clicked shut, John slipped the bass over his head and leaned it against the amp, peeling himself away from the speaker and walking to the center of the studio. He kept his back to me as he mumbled, “Those two sure are something.”

“It’s not something you ever get used to,” I answered honestly, retrieving my drumstick and twirling it in my hand, “Trust me. I’ve been dealing with this for about a year now, and it’s the same thing every time.”

“What would you do?” he proposed seemingly out of the blue, glancing back over his shoulder at me and biting his lip.

I raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“If I wrote a song, and you wanted to change the lyrics, or the whole thing,” the bassist explained, “Who would get credit for the song?”

His question left me at a loss for words. I’d never thought about it, having kept most of the songs I’ve been working on to myself with plans of releasing them on my own, knowing from experience that if I showed them to Freddie or Brian, they’d only be considered as a joke. I twirled the drumstick again and shrugged my shoulders, answering, “I don’t know. I guess it would depend on who contributed the most to the song at that point.”

John remained quiet for a bit, pacing back and forth in the small, open space located in the middle of the studio. He abruptly stopped his aimless walk at one point and turned towards me, smirking. “What if you changed my song completely? There wasn’t an ounce of my doing left on it. What would I have to do for you to give me the credit?”

I broke out into a wide grin, my cheeks blushing in embarrassment as my mind began to concoct all sorts of ideas. I folded my arms over my chest, drumsticks still in hand, and asked provocatively, “Well, what would you be willing to do?”

John hummed and put a hand up to his chin, posing as if he was thinking deeply about the lengths I would make him go to just to have his name attached to the record. He nodded his head, as if coming to terms with the hypothetical circumstances, and began to pace. I rolled my eyes and uncrossed my arms, beginning to tap the end of the sticks against the floor tom’s head in time with the bassist’s slow steps.

He glanced over at me, taking notice of my action, and decided to play with his pace, going faster and slower and then faster again – my drum beats never missing a step as he rushed up to me and jumped in my lap, causing me to drop the sticks in order to catch him so he wouldn’t fall to the ground. The two of us shared a brief, not-so-quiet bout of laughter before John put his finger up to my lips, silencing the two of us with his growing smile. I raised a suspicious eyebrow as he dragged his finger down my chin, trailing it to the back of my neck as he leaned in and kissed me.

I instinctively kissed him back, our bodies pressing closer together as the kiss deepened. My hands that were previously wrapped around John’s lower back found their way to his front, slowly starting to toy with the buttons holding his shirt together. I pulled back for just a moment to undo the last one and started to slide the piece of clothing down his arms. He sat back and smirked, tearing the shirt off in impatient haste.

The bassist allowed me no time to admire his exposed chest before swooping back in and kissing me again, his head landing in the crook of my neck and his lips creating a near impenetrable seal with my skin as he started to gently suck on it. I couldn’t hold back the moan that was drawn from my mouth, my eyes nearly rolling back in my head and my body giving in to the pleasure that spread throughout my entire being. He took notice of this and made it clear that he was pleased with his success as he brought his hand down my chest, over my racing heart, and underneath my waistband.

In the moment of pure lust, the studio around us escaped me. The fact that Freddie and Brian were just outside the door became a passing thought that achieved the opposite effect it should’ve. My inhibitions were lowered by the thrilling possibility of them barging in and seeing us so close and intimate, and my drive was heightened by the tantalizing risk involved in how far we could take it.

I slowly closed my eyes as John’s hand wrapped around my stiffened member, another moan slipping past my parted lips. My grip on his shoulders tightened as he began to massage the area; his movements slow and calculated as he worked to find the right pressure that would unravel me underneath his touch.

I was so close to reaching my climax, my breaths short and labored and my body wrapped in a warm blanket of ecstasy, when the bassist suddenly gasped and ripped his hand out of my pants, the intensity of the action throwing him back. I watched in horror and confusion – and honestly, a bit of disappointment – as John fell into the drumkit, almost losing his balance but catching himself on the kick drum. The snare drum tipped to the side, the rattle of the snare and the clash of the instrument against the hard, wooden floors reverberating through the studio in a terrifying clamor. I stared at him with wide eyes as he snatched his shirt up from the ground and scrambled to his feet, struggling to hastily get the shirt back on while he distanced himself from me.

I shook my head, trying to understand the sudden change in situation, but was denied the opportunity to ask him what happened as the door to the studio burst open and the other two band members reentered, Brian appearing to be quite pleased with himself whereas Freddie wore an unreadable expression. I frantically adjusted my pants and tried to find a position to sit in that wouldn’t come off as suspicious, settling on crossing one of my legs over the other and resting my chin on my hand.

“Come to an agreement, have we?” I greeted in a teasing manner.

“If that’s what’s you want to call it,” Freddie mumbled bitterly in response, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his gaze to the floor. My eyebrows furrowed together, noting how strange Freddie was acting. I didn’t recall ever seeing him this way before, so flustered and out of character. Usually I could tell when he was upset, and with the look on Brian’s face I would imagine that he would be livid, but he wasn’t. Instead, he seemed…contemplative, as if he was trying to figure something out.

“What happened to your snare drum, Roger?” Brian inquired, crossing the room to better assess the damage. I looked down at the instrument that was still on the floor – the drum detached from the stand, bottom-side up.

“Oh, I…uh…I got angry,” I stammered, standing up from the stool and picking up the instrument, Brian and Freddie’s widened eyes being attracted to the bulge in my pants. Brian gasped and looked away, putting a hand up to the side of his face like a blinder, while Freddie rolled his eyes and scoffed, folding his arms and muttering something incomprehensible under his breath. From his hushed tone, it was obvious he was irritated, but the emotion wasn’t directed at the person I expected it to be directed at.

The room began to rise in temperature again as I tried not to make a scene out of it, reassembling the two kit pieces and saying, “What, do you not believe me? I get angry all the time!”

“That’s not what we’re reacting to, darling,” the singer explained haughtily.

I placed my hands on my hips and stared directly into Fred’s eyes, retorting with just as much arrogance, “Then what is it you’re reacting to, dear?”

“Roger,” Brian murmured warily, his eyes pleading for me to stop before I instigated another walkout, something we desperately didn’t need. Time was running out, after all. Our days at the studio were numbered, and if we didn’t have an album at the end of this, we’d be done for. We’d lose it all.

Silence fell over the studio, the stare-down between Fred and me intensifying with each passing second. It might have never ended if it weren’t for John interjecting with a nervously shaking leg, “Are we going to work on this song or not?”

“Yes, why don’t we work on the song!” the guitarist eagerly agreed, nodding his head and bouncing his curls that just scraped his shoulders. “I-I have new lyrics I want to—”

“I think we’ve done enough today,” Freddie interrupted him tersely, turning a cheek to the disappointed and frustrated faces his remark received as he left the room, slowly drawing us out after him, one by one.

Before John could follow Brian’s lead, I ran across the studio and caught him by the arm, turning him towards me and asking, “Hey, what happened back there?”

He shrugged his shoulders and muttered, “Nothing.” My eyebrow lifted in curiosity as he uneasily folded his arms over his chest, tacking on, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Roger.”

I stared at him blankly, unsatisfied with his answers. I knew he knew what I was talking about; it was evident in his scoff and irritated addition of, “Are you talking about us waiting for Brian and Freddie to finish their argument? Because all that happened was that we started talking about how mad it made you, and you got so angry that you lashed out and kicked your snare over. Remember? You said it yourself.”

I could tell what he was trying to do, but I didn’t understand why. The other two were well out of earshot by then; I’d heard the door leading outside slam shut – twice. “Come on, John, we can’t keep _not_ talking about this.”

He glanced back over his shoulder and bit his lip, tapping his foot against the floor. I heaved a sigh and averted my gaze too, waiting for him to say something, _anything_ in acknowledgment of what I said. All I got, though, was a mumbled “I think I heard the van start up” and no chance to respond before he darted out of the door, slamming it behind him with a force I didn't know he was capable of producing and making me jump.


	10. Chapter 10

None of us had spoken to one another since leaving the studio. The ride back to the flat was saturated in awkward, unrequited glances, quiet hums, and indecipherable murmurs. It was as if everyone was at fault for something, but none of us knew exactly what or were willing to play the fool and simply ask. Brian wasn’t speaking to Freddie, Freddie wasn’t speaking to John, and John wasn’t speaking to me. The only two who seemed to be able to tolerate another band member’s presence were Brian and me.

Sitting at opposite ends of the couch, Brian flicked through his newest astronomy book – his reading glasses balancing on the tip of his nose – and I tapped my pencil against the notebook I’d taken from the coffee table. To whom the notebook belonged to was the least of my worries, with what happened at the studio earlier today taking precedence. I glanced over at Brian and audibly sighed, hoping to pull his attention out of the pages he was entranced in. Unlike John, he was acutely aware of his surroundings, and before I even sighed – right at the moment I opened my mouth to heave the heavy breath – his eyes peered over the rims of his glasses.

“Yes, Rog?” he asked.

“I-I just wanted to say congrats on getting Freddie to change the song,” I muttered, glancing back down at the blank piece of lined paper and scratching the eraser of the pencil behind my ear. Out of the corner of my eye, the guitarist closed his book and set it down on the cushion in between us, crossing his arms over his chest and waiting for me to shed the vague, irrelevant veil I’d hid my true intentions behind and tell him what was really on my mind.

I began to scribble in the notebook, using it as a distraction to avoid meeting his gaze as I went on to say, “It’s a shame Freddie made us leave so early. I would’ve liked to see what you had in mind.”

Brian exhaled slowly and slid the glasses off his face, folding the temples inward and setting them down on the coffee table. “Roger, I want you to be honest with me.” He clasped his hands together in front of him and looked over at me, asking, “What really happened while Fred and I were out in the hall?”

I kept my lips sealed shut and my eyes locked on the notebook, digging the pointed graphite tip deeper into the paper.

The guitarist shook his head, his curly hair following suit. “You are aware that I already know the answer to the question, right? I just want to hear it from you.”

“And what do you think the answer is, Brian?” I retorted, snapping the pencil and tossing the two halves – along with the notebook – to the floor. I crossed one arm over my chest and rested my head in the palm of my other hand, finally meeting Brian’s humble gaze. I hated his constant level-headedness and calm approach to every situation, mostly because I envied it. If I was more like him, maybe I wouldn’t feel so torn about John. It was like every step I made in the right direction led to two more steps in the wrong direction.

He took in a deep breath. “Well, I’m only going off of what Freddie told me—”

“ _Freddie?_ ” I repeated, jumping up from the couch and turning towards him, “I hope you’re joking.”

Brian sat further into the couch and rested his arm over the top of it, saying solemnly, “I wish I was, Rog, but after Freddie and I decided to change the song, he went to go back in and…and there you two were. N-Now, I haven’t told him anything—”

I grabbed at my messy hair and turned my back to him, taking a few steps back and forth before spinning around and throwing my finger in his direction. “Tell me what he told you.” The guitarist moved his lips like a fish out of water, the immediate stress of being put on the spot stealing the words right from his mouth. “Tell me what he told you!” I screamed, rushing up to him and grabbing him by the shirt, nearly lifting him off the couch.

“Let go of me,” he growled lowly, his fiery eyes boring right into mine. I kept my hold on him for just a moment longer before relinquishing it and stumbling away from him. He straightened his now crinkled shirt and continued calmly, “Look, all he said was that he saw you and John in a… _compromising position_ —"

“Bloody hell,” I muttered as I covered my reddening face with my hands and plopped back down on the couch, taking the seat right next to him – but not before giving the coffee table one good kick out of frustration, pushing one of its ends farther away from the sofa.

I felt a hand land on my shoulder shortly afterwards, and before I knew it, I was being pulled into a warm, comforting embrace. My hands remained glued to my face as I listened to Brian’s slow breaths and heartbeat, the two of us sitting in silence; allowing the situation to really settle in.

He and I didn’t need to speak to have the conversation that would’ve prevailed otherwise, and maybe it was for the best that it didn’t. Had it been verbalized, there was the possibility that no resolution would’ve come about. Nothing good ever emerged from screaming matches. Ask any one of us.

So, instead, I wordlessly confessed that I didn’t know what to do; that I’d never felt this strongly about someone before and I didn’t know how to handle it. I’d been in plenty of relationships before – relationships of all types, varying in length and intensity – but this one was entirely new to me. There was no prior experience that I could recall upon for guidance; no one I could turn to for advice, seeing as what we were doing was forbidden and discouraged. Yet, at the same time, that’s what made it all the more enticing.

After Brian nodded his head in understanding – all without actually moving, of course – I silently asked him, _do you think John feels the same way?_ It was so hard to tell. One moment he was telling me he wants to be with me, and the next he was acting like the electricity between us didn’t exist. This back and forth game he had us playing was exhausting, and I didn’t know how much longer I could put up with it. I was losing focus; I couldn’t control myself.

Taking a second or two to voicelessly contemplate what he should say and deciding that this was something I’d have to figure out on my own – but also making sure to let me know that he’d be there for me whatever the outcome was – Brian patted me on the shoulder and separated the two of us, rising up from his spot on the couch and attracting my attention as he held his hand out.

“You’re sitting on my book,” was all he said, the corner of his lip twitching upward almost unnoticeably.

I looked down and noticed that I was indeed sitting on his book, quickly retrieving it and extending it out to him. He wrapped his fingers around the opposite edge mine were curled around and looked me dead in the eyes, an inevitable frown appearing on his face as he thought about what else to say. When words failed him, he took the book fully into his possession and clapped his hand against it, tilting his head down and turning on his heel, sinking into the shadows that consumed the bedroom hallway.

I sat on the couch for a while, my leg bouncing nervously and my mind crackling like a radio receiving too many transmissions. I closed my eyes and tried to center myself; to filter all the static messages into one, and once I did, my eyes popped wide open, full of inspiration.

I slunk to the floor and snatched the notebook and the pointed half of the snapped pencil up, quickly jotting down my flowing thoughts. Tears began to waver in my eyes as my feelings poured out onto the page in a messy, near illegible compilation of lyrics. Pages were torn and crumpled, words were disguised in heavy smears of graphite, and time had started to slip away from me. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier with each phrase that manifested from the stubby pencil’s dull tip, and it wasn’t until I felt a slight pain emanate from my backside that I realized I’d fallen asleep – right there on the living room floor.

A groan emanated from the back of my throat while I pulled myself up, rubbing my tired eyes and blinking a few times before looking up – eyes narrowed – and seeing Freddie standing over me, notebook in hand.

“ _What’ll you do for loving…when it’s only just begun_?” he read, the corners of his lips stretching outward to his ears and revealing those godawful teeth that always walked into the room before he did. It took me but a second to process what he was saying, sending my heart into a chest-pounding frenzy.

“Hey, give that back!” I yelled, scrambling to my feet as Freddie ducked out of my reach, darting across the room and into the corner, where he kept his back to me and continued reading what I’d written the night before.

“ _I want you_ …” the singer began, looking back over his shoulder at me with a wide grin and continuing as I rushed towards him, “… _to be a woman_.”

I let out another scream and tackled the dark-haired man, struggling to rip the notebook from his hands. He wiggled his way out of my hold and escaped into the kitchen, thinking he’d be safe from my attack since Brian was in there making breakfast, and I wouldn’t _dare_ act so belligerently around a hot pan.

He was wrong.

I followed him in there in a flash of fury and leapt over the small table, jumping at him and earning a “Jesus Christ, Roger!” from Brian as I latched onto the notebook and growled, “Give it back, Fred.”

“Who _is_ this song about, Rog?” he inquired, unrelenting in his mockery of me. “I mean,” he looked back down at the graphite-smeared paper, reading verbatim, “ _What’ll you think of heaven if it’s back from where you came?_ This person must _really_ be something… _”_

“Just give it back,” I repeated sternly, tugging at the pages that wouldn’t budge from Freddie’s hands.

“Oh, would you two cut it out?” the guitarist intervened, snatching the notebook out of both of our grasps and looking at the two of us like we were out of our minds. “You’re acting like a couple of schoolboys!”

“Well, he started it!” I whined.

The singer scoffed. “I was merely admiring my bandmate’s new song.”

“Oh sure, Fred. _That’s_ what you were doing.” I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t care what you were or were not doing.” Brian shoved the notebook into my chest and shot a glare in both of our directions, one at a time, as he told us, “Roger, put the damn notebook in your room, and Freddie, get the mail.”

“But—”

“Just get the fucking mail, Fred!” he snapped, lighting a fire underneath the singer that sent him scurrying out of the kitchen like the rat he was. I stood there for a moment before Brian – his eyebrows crinkled together in anger – threw his hand in the direction of the bedroom hall, sending me on my way. I slipped into John’s and my bedroom and turned around to see the bassist bent over, hands on the waistband of his pants, mid-pull, and a terrified look in his eyes.

“Roger,” he muttered, standing up and pulling his pants up the rest of the way; zipping and buttoning them up with urgency. “I-I didn’t hear you.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, hiding the notebook behind my back with one hand and using the other to point over my shoulder, asking, “You really didn’t hear us all yelling out there?”

“Well yeah, I did,” he admitted bashfully, a subtle blush creeping up in his cheeks as he slipped his hands into his pockets, “That’s why I stayed in here. I usually try to stay out of your guys’ arguments.”

I nodded my head in understanding, starting to sway on the heels of my feet as I awkwardly waited for the moment to pass, hoping desperately that he would ask me to move out of his way or spark a conversation that would alleviate the silent blanket that had been cast over the two of us.

I became hopeful when he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head, as if he was preparing himself to say something, but much to my disappointment, he just brushed past me towards the door. I closed my eyes and kept my back to him, trying not to let our encounter get to me like it already had began to. I could feel the tears starting to form, but they wouldn’t get the chance to stream down my cheeks as hands fell upon my shoulders and a warm presence pressed itself against me from behind.

“Meet me on the roof at midnight,” John whispered, his breath tickling my ear and his teeth biting at my earlobe, quickly returning my vision to me and stealing the air from my lungs. The presence escaped me as I looked over my shoulder, catching only a glimpse of John’s hair as the door closed behind him.

“Midnight,” I whispered to myself, unable to hold back the smile that appeared on my face as I spun around and went to leave the room. I didn’t even get a step out the door before being pushed back by what felt like a freight train, the realization of how far away midnight was hitting me with a powerful sense of urgency.

It was only morning, _early_ morning at that, and the thought of enduring an entire day around John without drawing any attention to us seemed impossible. Freddie and Brian had made it very clear that they both had their own ideas about what was going on between us, and if we were to have a repeat of yesterday, there was a high chance of their thoughts being affirmed. Granted, I wasn’t as concerned as John seemed to be, but I still couldn’t risk it.

I wrapped my hand around the brass knob and yanked the door open, heading straight for the front door – hoping to slip out unnoticed – when Brian’s voice stopped me dead in my tracks, just before I could make my grand escape. “And where do you think _you’re_ going?” I slowly looked back over my shoulder to see him and Freddie at the table, sitting across from one another with two extra plates in between them – one for me and one for John.

“Out,” I replied bluntly, unwilling to back down for the second time this morning. My eyes trailed over to John who was leaning against the kitchen counter, a sly expression on his face as he poured himself a glass of orange juice. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat and added boldly, “I think we should have the day off today.”

“Roger, we can’t take _another_ day off,” the curly-haired guitarist tried to rationalize with me, “We have a lot to do today!”

“Yes, what he said,” Freddie joined in, waving his hand flippantly as he kept his attention on the mail he and Brian were working on while eating their breakfast.

“Where were you thinking of going?” John inquired, a playfully mischievous look in his eyes as the corner of his lip perked up into an amused smirk. “Perhaps I could tag along."

My eyes traveled from one band member to the next, the room shrinking in size as my answer became an obvious priority. If it wasn’t my whereabouts, it was Freddie’s, and if it wasn’t Freddie’s, it was Brian’s. As a group, we were notorious for sticking our noses in each other’s businesses, and in that moment, I wished we weren’t.

“Sit down, Roger,” Brian demanded in an exhausted yet stern tone, pointing his fork at the open seat beside him and raising his eyebrows as if to say _Now_.

I scoffed. “You wouldn’t give _John_ this much trouble!”

“Yeah, because John doesn’t drive me up the wall like you do, so sit down and eat your breakfast before it gets cold!” he snapped, stabbing his fork right into his plate – a horrible metal-against-porcelain sound piercing our ears – and heaving a shaky sigh. “Please,” he tacked on softly, glancing over at me with remorse in his eyes.

I stood by the door for a moment or two before dragging myself over and plopping down in the open chair, snatching up a piece of bacon and biting down on it. I ripped half the crispy piece of pork from in between my teeth and looked over at John, the bassist winking at me as he turned away, leaving me in a helpless fluster as I nervously chewed the food in my mouth.


	11. Chapter 11

“I thought you said we had a lot of work to do today,” I mumbled as the four of us walked into the studio – Brian with his guitar cases in both hands, John with his bass strapped across his back, and me with my toms tucked underneath my arms. Freddie, as usual, carried nothing, claiming he needed to “lead the way” and that, if he were to strain himself with “excessive lifting,” it would compromise his singing.

Load of bullshit, if you asked me.

“We do, Roger,” Brian acknowledged my complaint, rolling his eyes like an annoyed parent who didn’t understand why their child wasn’t listening to them, even though they’d repeated themselves a thousand times over.

“Then how come the entire ride here, all you two blokes talked about was going over the songs we’ve already recorded? We’ve gone over them so many bloody times; I can practically play them in my sleep.”

The guitarist sighed and explained, “Exactly. That’s why we’re only going over vocals, guitar, and bass today.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, his words hitting me like a brick wall, and furrowed my eyebrows together in anger. “Wait, are you serious?” I lifted my arms and relinquished my hold on the drums’ rims, letting them fall to the ground in an echoey clamor that froze everyone in their places. “Then why the hell did you make me bring my fucking drums?” I yelled.

“To get a reaction like that, dear,” Freddie responded with a smile, flipping his hair over his shoulder and continuing into the studio. Brian shook his head in exasperation and followed after him, John tagging along too, but not before picking up and taking my drums for me with a small, kind, almost humored grin.

I heaved a sigh and dragged myself down the hall, pushing in the control room door and strutting over to the couch positioned behind the recording console, taking a dramatic turn before flopping down on it.

I remained lying there for what seemed like forever – tossing and turning, feet up on the arm and feet up on the back, drum sticks thumping against the cushions and the pillows. You name it, I did it. It was pure agony, and I was so close to fulfilling the growing, deeply-rooted desire of barging into the studio, grabbing my cymbals from their stands, and bashing in all their heads when I saw Freddie pull John aside. I raised a curious eyebrow and rolled off the couch, leaning forward on the mixing board and squinting my eyes to try and read their lips to figure out what they were talking about.

I was shit at reading lips, though, so instead I watched in unadulterated awe as John’s facial expression changed from concerned to embarrassed to horrified, the bassist storming across the practice space and the singer throwing his arms out to the side in a pathetic attempt to continue their conversation. However, it was clear that John wished to no longer have any part of it, walking straight out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

I pushed myself away from the console and contemplated my options. I could either stay in the control room or catch John before he left the studio altogether, but I couldn’t determine which plan of action was better. I staggered back to the couch – the decision too difficult for me to make in fears it would ruin my chances with John tonight – and plopped down in the middle cushion, hunched forward with my elbows resting on my knees and my gaze locked on my feet.

My eyes eventually flickered up to Brian who had wandered over to Freddie and was now walking away from him. His eyes met mine through the window in a disappointed and exhausted way as he set his guitar down and took John’s lead, abandoning Freddie who stayed behind for only a brief moment, just long enough to meet my gaze with the same expression Brian had.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and jumped to my feet, breaking out of the control room and finding the three of them standing in the hallway - John on one wall and Brian and Freddie on the other. They all had their arms folded over their chests and their heads turned away from each other, as if they couldn’t stand the sight of one another. It was unsurprisingly a common occurrence among us.

“Hey,” I blurted out, pulling their attentions in the same direction and regretting my choice immediately, for their looks were more intimidating than I was prepared for. I took a cautious step back and stammered, “W-What’s going on? Are…Are we done for the day?” There was no disguising the glimmer of hope that came across in my tone of voice, worried that if I spent another silent minute in that control room, I would’ve lost my mind.

Brian looked over at the clock on the wall and heaved a heavy sigh. “Well, it _is_ almost time for us to get headed out to that show.”

“What show?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips and shifting my weight to one side.

“Oh, don’t play stupid, darling,” Freddie chimed in, peeling himself away from the wall and gravitating towards the center of the hallway, “We’re playing at Bri’s college tonight. That’s why we’ve been trying to get these songs down. Maybe if your head wasn’t always stuck in La La Land, Mr. _I’m-Going-Out_ , you would’ve known.”

I brushed off the singer’s comment that – subpar, at best – made a mockery of the way I spoke and shook my head, muttering, “I can’t believe it.”

“Can’t believe _what_ , Roger?” Brian enthused, though his reply was everything but.

“I can’t believe I’m in a band with a bunch of morons who seemed to have forgotten how long it takes for us to get ready for a show!” I exclaimed, brushing past all of them and into the studio, collecting my drums that hadn’t been assembled and looking back over my shoulder at three of them who’d gathered in the doorway. “Well, don’t just stand there staring at me,” I snapped at them, “I know you haven’t seen me all day, but we need to get going!”

“You're unbelievable, Roger,” the curly-haired man shot back with a chuckle, entering the room and dragging the other two in with him.

*****

As per usual, the four of us scrambled around the flat in preparation of the show. Freddie had made camp in the bathroom and refused to let any of us in until he had finished doing his makeup. Brian was situated on the couch in the living room, already dressed and going over the guitar parts he knew like the back of his hand but began to doubt every time we had a performance. He’d been doing that since we were in Smile together, and I didn’t know why. As for John and me, we were in our bedroom, staring at the outfits Freddie had laid out for us with wide eyes.

“I am _not_ wearing that,” I grumbled.

“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” John replied dismally, stepping towards his bed and picking up the V-neck blouse whose deep neckline was embroidered with a somewhat floral pattern. He glanced back over his shoulder at me and sported a weak, supportive grin.

I walked up to my bed and snatched the sparkly black vest I'd been given up, shaking it in the air. “I’d rather go on stage naked than wear this monstrosity again.”

The small grin on his face grew as he mused, “Again? As in, you’ve already worn it?”

“Once,” I clarified, haphazardly folding the garment up and tossing it to the side, “It was one of the first shows Brian and I played with Freddie. He begged us to try a new name and a new look that matched.” I sat down on the foot of my bed and looked up at the bassist, reminiscing, “The show went great, actually. It may have even been our best show, but _that_ thing…” I pointed down to the pile of sequins on the floor, “…made it the worst.”

“Oh, come on,” he teased, “It’s just a top.”

A maniacal chuckle slipped past my lips. “Okay, John. If it’s just a top, then you wear it.”

He gasped and held the blouse I was fairly certain Freddie had acquired from the women’s rack at the consignment shop he was always visiting close to his chest. “No, I like this one. And besides,” his gaze trailed down to the vest for a split second before returning to me, “Only you could pull something off like that.”

I scoffed and crossed my arms over my chest, a facetious grin appearing on my face. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“What are you children arguing about now?” Freddie’s voice broke into the conversation, the man leaning against the doorway between our bedroom and the hall. Thick, dark rings circled his eyes and his lips were a shade darker than they normally were.

“Roger refuses to wear the vest you set out for him,” John answered, shamelessly throwing me under the bus.

My jaw dropped in shock at the betrayal before I stood up and tossed my hand down at the heap of a shirt, complaining, “It’s too small for me, Fred.”

“What are you talking about?” He stepped into the room and scooped up the garment, shoving it into my chest. “It’s the perfect size for you.”

I rolled my eyes and took the shirt into my possession, just to get Freddie’s hand off my chest. “But it looks ridiculous.” I looked over at John with eyes that pled for him to agree with me, but instead, he turned away and set the V-neck back down on his bed, beginning to undress himself with his back turned to Freddie and me. I returned my attention to the singer and offered, “I’ll only wear it if John doesn’t think I look ridiculous.”

“Fine, then put it on and let’s see,” the flamboyantly dressed singer countered, resting his hands on his hips and, as a result, stretching the tight shirt he’d adorned himself with. I rolled my eyes and slipped the shirt I was currently wearing over my head, replacing it with the itchy yet eye-catching vest.

I squirmed inside the piece of clothing and began to scratch my chest as Freddie tapped John’s shoulder, the newest band member looking warily over his shoulder, as if he was surprised to have been called upon. “What do you think?” he inquired, motioning over to me. I stood still, shooting daggers at the singer with narrowed eyes. Freddie huffed and said, “Well, don’t just _stand_ there, dear. Turn around; he can’t determine how it looks just from one side.”

“I hate you,” I growled as I pivoted in place, stopping after I’d made a full rotation and returning to my itching.

“I think he looks quite nice,” John finally gave his answer, sliding into the pair of leather pants Freddie had provided him with to accompany the blouse. The corner of his lip perked up into a smirk as he zipped the pants up, my visual daggers being redirected at him.

Freddie clapped his hands together and announced rather bluntly, “Then it’s settled, Rog. You’re wearing the vest.”

“But I don’t want to!” I whined, stomping my foot.

“Aww, you poor thing,” he patronized me with pursed lips, “Now come on!” He smacked me on the ass, causing me to leap up off the floor like a volt of electricity had just ran through my entire body. “We’ve got a show to get to!” And with that, he waltzed out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

“You do look good in that vest,” John whispered, a seductive undertone to his compliment.

“Fuck you,” I murmured, grabbing the pants from my bed and leaving the room to go finish changing in the bathroom. Before I could get there, though, I bumped into Brian, the two of us looking at each other with eyes that made it clear we both had similar intentions. Our gazes traveled over to the opened bathroom door and instinct drove us forward in a competitive frenzy as we pushed and shoved our way down the hall, the taller man using his longer legs to his advantage and slipping into the small room before I could, throwing me out of the way and shutting the door in my face.

I punched the door in frustration and spun around, crossing my arms over my chest and resting back my against the door, pouting. I glanced over at John’s and my bedroom where John was leaning against the threshold, matching my stance but wearing an opposite expression, with the corner of his lips curled up instead of down.

“What are you looking at?” I snapped. He put his hands up in innocence and walked towards the living room where Freddie was waiting for us. I rolled my eyes and nearly fell back on my ass as the door disappeared from behind me, glaring at Brian as he mouthed an apologetic “sorry” and brushed past me to join the other two. I shook my head and sunk into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

*****

After arguing over who sits where, the four of us found our seats in the van. I won the driver’s seat, even though the other three fought strongly against it. We were running late, and although my lead foot had gotten me in trouble a handful of times before, we needed it to get to the show on time. It also allowed me to regain my lost composure, because driving had this calming effect on me that I couldn’t explain – the opportunity presenting itself too seldomly.

I had zoned out, losing myself in the road that stretched out ahead. It was only when a tap rattled on my shoulder that my attention was stolen by the rearview mirror, Freddie’s face positioned in such a way that his chin rested on the back of the driver’s seat atop his folded hands. I rolled my eyes and returned my eyes to the road, muttering, “What do you want, Freddie?”

“I want to know what you have against this vest,” he answered boldly, tugging at the shoulder covered in black sequins, as if I needed help understanding which vest he was talking about.

A scoff emanated from the back of my throat. “It just looks ridiculous, Fred. I’ve told you this a million times before!”

“But there’s got to be something more to it than just that,” the singer argued, unsatisfied with my response and falling back into the shadows that had been cast over the inside of the van. “I mean, you’ve worn way more ridiculous things…like that _stupid_ rainbow wig you insist on wearing every time we go out.”

“Hey.” I lifted my hand from the wheel and held up my index finger in an informative yet discerning manner. “You’re the one who gave me that wig.”

“You stole it from me!” Freddie cried.

“Does it really matter, you two?” Brian interjected, his eyes meeting mine for a brief second from across the center console before shifting back to Freddie.

“I’m just saying that I don’t understand why he’s so opposed to wearing it!” the singer exclaimed with a laugh of disbelief as he crossed his arms.

“Because it’s gay, Freddie!” I shouted, inviting an awkward, intense silence to the small, enclosed space. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white as I pushed myself back into the seat I was strapped in to and scrambled to find something else to say; something to save me from the impending fallout.

However, that fallout never came, and instead, Freddie asked the calm, heavily weighted question of, “And what’s wrong with something being gay, Rog?”

I sat there quietly – the air growing warmer, the car growing smaller, and the question lingering among us, unanswered. I could feel all their eyes on me as they anticipated my response that was either going to out me – and John, for that matter – or make me seem like an asshole. Either way, I was fighting a losing battle.

Luckily, the college we were performing at came into view, saving me from having to face the facts; admit the truth; reveal John’s and my secret that didn’t seem very secret anymore. “Hey, we’re here!” I exclaimed, pressing down a little more on the gas pedal and propelling the van even further down the street. My eyes flickered down to the clock on the dashboard. “And look, we’re even on time.”

“A true miracle,” John muttered sarcastically, the corner of his lip perking upward in the darkness. I glanced back at him quickly and returned the expression.

Within a minute, I swung the van into the college’s car park, the tires screeching to a halt against the pavement and our instruments sliding across the vehicle’s floor, crashing up against the van’s wall. I forced a grin on my face and looked back at the three of them, an annoyed glare in all their eyes – all except for John. He couldn’t stop smiling at me, genuinely smiling at me, as he found my behavior entertaining, just like the first night we met.

I wondered what was going through his head as he stared at me, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth and a look in his eyes I could only identify as lust. Maybe he was thinking about what he was going to do to me that night. I knew _I_ certainly was after meeting his gaze.

I lowered my hand down to my tightening pants, shifting them in an attempt to relieve the growing uncomfortableness as the confined space continued to increase in temperature. Luckily my action went seemingly unnoticed as the three others got out, grabbing their instruments – or in Freddie’s case, his cosmetics bag, because heaven forbid he look anything but _perfect_ for the show, and even more importantly, the afterparty – and heading inside.

I followed suit and began to get my drums out from the back, stacking them up on the pavement one by one. I huffed as I pulled out the last drum and jumped out of the van, setting it down and stumbling back in surprise as I noticed the person sitting atop my kick drum, fishnet legs crossed one over the other and black nails wrapped around the instrument’s rims.

“Dominique,” I breathed, nervously matching the growing smile that appeared on her face.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she replied, lips smacking as she chewed her gum and cocked her head to the side, kicking her legs back and forth, “I knew I’d see you again.”

The memory of the conversation we had the morning after our drunken night together gradually wiped the smile off my face, replacing it with a regretful frown. I rested my hands on my hips and sighed. “You know, you really shouldn’t be sitting on that. I’ll have to retune it.”

“You think that’s the only thing you’ll have to retune tonight?” she countered, pouting her glossy lips and uncrossing her legs. She planted her feet on the ground and spread her knees outward, her hands running down her thighs and the neckline of her top deepening as she leaned forward. Her tongue grazed her bottom lip, causing it to curl upward into a smirk.

I bit my lip, the uncomfortableness I had gotten rid of no more than a few minutes ago returning with no remorse. I folded my hands over my front and forced a grin on my face. “Ah, actually, Dominique, I—”

“Who’s your friend, Rog?” Brian’s cheerful voice sounded from behind me, quickly drawing my attention over my shoulder and scaring Dominique off the drums she’d perched herself on. She tugged at the bottom of her short, leather skirt as the guitarist picked up the drum by my feet, flashing a grin at both of us in anticipation of my answer.

My cheeks flushed an embarrassing shade of red as I brought a shaky hand up and nervously ran it through my hair, stammering, “Oh, that…that’s Dominique. W-We—”

“We slept together,” she interrupted me, as if she was proud to deepen the red in my face and bring my gaze to my feet in avoidance of Brian’s.

He clicked his tongue in an act of subtle judgment and replied kindly, “Well it was nice to meet you, Dominique. Are you here for the show?”

“Yeah, a friend dragged me here,” the dark-haired girl revealed, crossing her arms over her chest and eyeing me up and down, “But I guess I don’t have a reason to complain anymore now that I know you’re playing. Hopefully those practices will pay off.” She gave me a wink before slipping in between Brian and me and disappearing into the building that was overflowing with students and the smell of alcohol.

The guitarist raised an amused, suspicious eyebrow at me. I didn’t even allow him to ask the cheeky remark that was forming behind his tightly closed lips before grabbing the drums from the pavement and taking Dominique’s lead in going into the school, wanting nothing more than to just get through the rest of the night – namely to midnight – without any more trouble.


	12. Chapter 12

“ _So now you know you could be dead before they let you_ ,” Freddie sang into the microphone, the crowd going wild as his moan got drowned out by the rest of us. I dragged my drumsticks across the drum heads over and over again, my movements gradually slowing down with each pass; John slapped the strings of his bass, keeping in time with me; and Brian ran his fingers up and down the neck of his guitar, his other hand strumming the strings in a mesmerizing up and down pattern. My teeth were clenched, my breaths were shallow, and sweat dripped from my hair and streamed down my face, my arms and hands moving so rapidly they felt like they were on fire.

We closed the song with the crash of the cymbals, the drone of John’s final bass note, and the ringing of Brian’s final iteration of his mini solo. Freddie looked back at us with a wide grin, pleased with our performance. In fact, we all were; everyone was. It was all anyone could talk about after the show, the college still flooded with people as they conversed with one another without a care about how late it was getting.

The four of us started off together in a small group, chatting with those who came to see us and tell us how great we were, but eventually we began to drift apart. First it was John, the man disappearing without so much as a warning, and then it was Freddie, a different group whisking him away for god knows what reason. Brian and I always stuck together, though. It was just easier that way, and it was nice sometimes to have someone by your side that you knew.

“Someone’s awfully quiet tonight,” the taller of the two of us commented in an almost concerned way, breaking my gaze from the clock across the room. In the darkness, I couldn’t really see where the hands were positioned, but I tried. I really did.

“I’m just tired,” I simply offered as an explanation, though as soon as the words slipped past my lips, I knew they were unconvincing. Hell, even I couldn’t believe the lie.

“Is it about him?” Brian inquired, a genuine sincerity to his question.

I remained silent, though not because I didn’t know how to answer the question or was confused by what he meant. No elaboration was needed to explain who “him” referred to. I knew exactly who he was talking about, and if Freddie hadn’t sauntered off with the group of strangers, he would’ve known too. Would he have said something? Probably. But Brian? No, he would never. That’s not the kind of person he was. I struggled to answer it because I was afraid to; I had been from the moment it first crossed my mind at the beach, when John and I were sitting together in the sand.

Just as Brian cleared his throat, preparing to add on to his previous statement, Dominique broke out from the crowd, gasping as her searching gaze fell upon me. I didn’t have time to react before she rushed up to me and pulled me into an unsolicited embrace. She mustn’t have cared that I was sticky with sweat and smelled of something awful, because she just went for it. After all, almost everyone here was in the same situation.

She practically screamed in my ear, her exclamation – if that’s what the noise she made could even be classified as – incomprehensible as she squeezed me tight, pulling back just far enough so that she could crash her lips into mine for a sloppy, passionate, and thankfully short-lived kiss. “You were great up there, Roggie,” she purred, her lips that were millimeters from mine curling up into a provocative grin and her grip on my vest tightening with a desire I knew all too well, “And you looked _so_ damn good.”

I chuckled nervously, my gaze wandering over to Brian who’d tilted his head down, sipping the drink someone had brought him and turning ever so slightly away from me as if to give the two of us privacy. I remembered when I used to tease him about things like this, boasting about the girls I would be taking home that night, but now I wanted nothing of it. The only person I wanted to take home was John, but he’d wandered off to god knows where and I didn’t know the school well enough to go looking for him.

Dominique drew my attention back to her by grabbing my chin and bringing my face forward, her lust-filled eyes staring at my lips that her fingers made purse out like a fish. “I know a place where no one would see us,” she whispered seductively, eliminating the distance between us and directing my attention to the bulge that had begun to form in my pants. _Oh no_ , I thought with widening eyes, my body not getting the message that my brain was trying to send it. _God, no. Not now. Not now!_

“Come on,” Dominique insisted, pulling me with her as she slipped back into the hot crowd of strangers. She moved her grip from my vest to my hands in a swift, almost unnoticeable motion, relinquishing hold of one so that she could squeeze her way through the cliques of people more easily while also ensuring she wouldn’t lose me.

I didn’t know why I kept going with her. It was like she had put me in a trance. All my thoughts had scrambled together, forming a blurred mess of indecipherable cognitive messages as I looked back at Brian. His eyes were locked on mine, wanting to help me, but his feet stayed planted to the floor. I helplessly watched as he got smaller, my mind screaming at me to call out to him but my lips remaining sealed as he eventually became swallowed by the crowd, leaving me with no other choice but to follow in Dominique’s path.

I glanced at each of the faces I passed, hoping John’s or Freddie’s would stick out to me. I was so desperate that I began to look for anyone I recognized – even in the slightest bit – just to save me from falling victim to another forgetful night’s fling. I couldn’t forget tonight; it was too important. I needed to get home, to the roof, but I was all alone.

_Because everyone had left me._

My eyebrows furrowed together in anger as the two of us broke out into a hallway, where there was a noticeable temperature change from the room whose maximum capacity had definitely been overreached. It was my chance to escape, but Dominique denied me the realization as she continued to drag me behind her, taking several turns and venturing down hallways that became increasingly more vacant. I began to wonder if she’d done this before, because it felt like only seconds went by before she came to an abrupt stop, finding the room she was looking for and letting my hand drop out of hers.

I stood there like I did the night outside of her apartment, leaning against the wall as I watched her pull a bobby pin out of her hair and insert it into the door’s locks. I couldn’t hear what she was saying to me; I could only see her lips move, a series of loud, hateful thoughts drowning out my surroundings.

I hated that Brian didn’t stop Dominique from taking me away. I hated that Freddie was off somewhere most likely getting fucked by who knows how many people. One at a time, all at once, it didn’t matter to him. A good night was a good night. I would be having a good night too if we didn’t have to do this show, and if John hadn’t vanished into thin air. I hated him; I hated all of them.

My loathing for the three would’ve only intensified if Dominique hadn’t gotten the door unlocked and pushed it in, her hands running up my chest – underneath the sequin monstrosity I was still adorned with – and curling around my shoulders. “I hope you're not too exhausted from playing,” she murmured, leaning in and pressing her lips against mine.

At first, my body reacted on instinct, kissing her back, but the disrobing of the vest, the wrapping of my arms around her back, and the repositioning of the two of us so that she was against the wall and I was in front of her was intentional. I wanted to show John that, if he wasn’t going to have me and if he was just going to keep teasing me like he had been and making all these false promises about midnight, I didn’t need him. I certainly didn’t have any problem seeking other options. They practically threw themselves at me anyways, metaphorically and literally.

I didn’t need John; I didn’t need any of them.

Dominique giggled in surprise at my behavior – since the last time we did this, she was the one calling all the shots; I, myself, too inebriated to even remember what happened after we stumbled into her bedroom – but delighted in the show of dominance, allowing me to bring us into the dark room and close the door behind us.

In the shadows, we tugged at the clothes still hanging from our limbs and swiped whatever was on the desk we’d bumped into onto the floor. I lifted her up onto the table, and she spread her legs outward for me to stand in between them. The empty room began to warm up just like the larger room the concert was held in, the moment growing more intense with each tick of the clock on the wall.

_The clock_.

My eyes flickered over to where it hung above the chalkboard, the street lamp from outside shining a spotlight on it and making the black hands prominent against the white background – 12:32. _Past midnight. John_ _._ I couldn’t help myself from thinking about the possibility that he was somewhere waiting for me, whether it be here at the university or back at the flat. I doubted either of the options, though, seeing as he would’ve been waiting a half hour for me, and no one waits that long for anyone. I knew I certainly wouldn’t, but I had hope, and part of me deeply wished that the person in front of me was the bassist instead of the girl who’d somehow managed to get under my skin in a way no other endeavor of mine had ever done before. _Just like John._

“Goddammit,” I mumbled against Dominique’s neck whose crook I had buried my face in. I took a step back, my hands resting on the desk beside her thighs and my head hung low. “I can’t do this, Dominique.”

“What do you mean you can’t do this?” she snapped, her eyebrows furrowing together underneath her bangs as she shifted her position ever so slightly.

I straightened my posture and heaved a sigh, a terrible feeling forming in the pit of my stomach as I ran a trembling hand through my disheveled hair. “This was a mistake,” I muttered, shaking my head and stepping away from her to pick up my discarded clothes, “I-I need to go.”

“Who even are you? Fucking Cinderella? Clocks strikes midnight and you need to haul arse before your bloody riches turn to rags?” she inquired rather angrily, bringing her knees together and placing her hands on them. She was leaned forward, her breasts pressed together inside her bra between her upper arms. Back then, something like that would’ve drawn me right back in, but I’d changed. I was a different person than I was just a few months ago, and it was all because of John – my own Prince Charming.

“Something like that,” I murmured, slipping into my pants and nearly tripping over myself as I stumbled closer to the door, snatching my vest along the way. I looked back at her disappointed glare and a pang of guilt washed over me.

I left the room without saying another word, knowing that nothing I could say would make the situation any better. I fumbled with the vest's buttons as I tried to bring the two sides together, making my way down the unfamiliar hallways. I eventually broke out of the building and into the parking lot that was a lot less full than it was when we first arrived, cars scattered about and people drunkenly trying to find which one was theirs.

I took a few steps out onto the pavement, looking around for our van when I heard someone call my name from behind me. I quickly spun around to no one, wondering if I had gone mad and was starting to hear things.

“No, up here!” the same voice sounded again, bringing my head back to see that John was where he promised he would be – on the roof. It wasn’t our roof, the one I thought he was referring to, but it was a roof nonetheless. A mischievous smirk crawled onto my face as he waved his hand, indicating that he wanted me to join him.

I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, “How’d you get up there?”

“Staircase to your right!” he yelled back, pointing to the open stairwell at the far end of the building. I nodded my head in understanding and ran towards it, excitement driving me forward and propelling me up the steps that spiraled upward. After dashing up four flights of stairs, I reached the roof and pushed through the door to find John waiting for me, leaning against the baluster with arms folded over his chest and a glimmer in his eyes.

“There you are. I was worried you were never going to come.”


	13. Chapter 13

I clasped my hands behind my back and began to slowly waltz over to John, the man intently watching me with every step I took. I joined his side – facing out into the parking lot while he kept his back to it – and took in a deep breath, breathing in the warm, summer air that reminded me of our first night on the roof of our flat. I exhaled slowly and wrapped my hands around the stone railing, making a conscious effort to not return John’s gaze that had fixated on my profile.

Eventually, he spun around and matched my stance, keeping the distance between our bodies but slowly inching his hand closer and closer to mine. I couldn’t hold back the blush that surfaced in my cheeks as my hand became consumed by his, his long, calloused fingertips running across my knuckles.

“I’m nervous,” I admitted, finally daring to meet his lustful gaze. John was the first and possibly only man I felt this way towards, and the thought of losing him – the thought of losing _this_ – stirred my insides like my first ever gig did. I knew it could lead to something more, but if I were to mess things up for whatever reason, I knew I’d never live it down.

The bassist provided me with no verbal reply, rather, he shortened the distance between us and brought his hand up, his fingers caressing the side of my face as he turned it towards him. He brought our heads together, our foreheads touching and our lips so close that all we needed to eliminate the gap was a single breath. However, that breath would never come as I broke away from him, venturing over to the small garden the university had began to harvest, my fingertips grazing the tops of the plants in an absentminded manner.

John peeled himself away from the roof’s edge and trailed behind me, cautiously maintaining the space separating us and stopping abruptly when I did to comment, “This place is nice, John. A lot nicer than ours.”

“I know,” he replied, scanning the vast, empty rooftop that was only occupied by the two of us and the garden, “Brian was the one to tell me about it.”

“Oh, did he now?” I teased, flashing a smile in his direction. He returned the gesture and joined my side as I stopped to get a closer look at one of the plants. While holding the flower in the palm of my hands, my eyes flickered over to the bassist, his hands in his pockets and his eyes locked on me in anticipation of my acknowledgement.

I said and did nothing for a while, allowing the silence that hung in the warm air to make its presence known before slowly turning towards him and burying my face in his shoulder, my lips pursing out ever so slightly to give him a soft, gentle kiss. I nuzzled my nose against the black fabric before finally meeting his brown eyes that twinkled in the moonlight, his lips parting to form an amused grin.

“You okay?” he asked with a slight chuckle.

I nodded my head and pinched my bottom lip underneath my front teeth, muttering, “Me okay.”

I looked away from him and – for the second and last time that night – departed from his side, pacing around in a small circle before gravitating back towards him and falling into his chest. His arms wrapped around me, one hand snaking around the back of my neck and the other resting in the small of my back. I instantly melted into the embrace, nearly sinking to the floor before I reached up and slung my arms around his shoulders as if I was drowning in a body of water and he was the life preserver that had been thrown out for my rescue.

John and I held each other close, pressing our bodies together and creating a friction I’d been itching to feel all day. We reveled in the feeling, our heads placed in the crook of the other’s neck as we took a second to appreciate the moment that both of us had been waiting for. Growing somewhat impatient with the tension that had quickly become irritating, I arched my spine and cocked my head back, tugging slightly at his hair before dragging my hands down to his cheeks, my body relaxing as I met John’s aroused gaze.

He brought his hands up to the sides of my neck, his fingertips weaving themselves into my blonde locks. He leaned back, inviting a small amount of distance between us so that he could admire more of me, and whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please,” I replied with a quiet desperation I’d never experienced with anyone else. I leaned in, more than ready to accept his lips with mine, when he gently and tantalizingly pushed me back. I wanted to frown, I wanted to whine, but he didn’t keep the act up long enough for me to, his impatience that matched mine becoming evident with the tug he gave to my shirt and the tender kiss he gifted me with shortly after, but only on the corner of my lips.

A kiss was a kiss, though, and my eyes nearly rolled back in my head as his lips traveled from the side of my mouth to my cheekbones, then to my forehead. An undeniable electricity surged between us, pushing us apart, but his hands cupped around my neck kept me close. The two of us stared into each other’s eyes before John dove in again, dipping his head into the crook of my neck and planting a quick kiss on my skin. I wished he stayed there longer than he did, breaking away from our embrace and turning his back to me. I reached out for him as he spun back around, the two of us draping our arms around each other once again and eliminating the distance between us.

I lifted my legs up in an attempt to perch myself on his hips, but the move was unsuccessful – despite John’s attempt to help pick me up off the ground. He and I ended up stumbling backwards, sharing a brief laugh as John balanced the both of us, his eyes scanning my body down and up. 

“What are you doing?” I asked him with a grin.

“Nothing,” he answered slyly, his hand coming up and tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear. I leaned into the gesture, only for him to slip away again, wandering over to the opposite side of the roof and sitting down on a raised bed of grass contained in one of the many blocks scattered about the rooftop that had yet to be cultivated. John kicked off his shoes and swung his feet back and forth like a child, raising his hand and curling his index finger towards himself to draw me in.

I took my time getting over to him, driving him madder with each slow step I made in his direction. When I finally reached him, I didn’t even bother sitting beside him. Instead, I plopped right down on his lap, my fingers running through his mess of hair and landing on the back of his neck. I buried my nose and mouth in the top of his head as I straddled him, inhaling his intoxicating scent as his hands slid up my back and dragged the vest with them, the garment falling back against my sweat-drenched skin while they traveled farther down, landing on my ass.

I shifted so that I was more comfortable, bringing our faces closer together and parting my lips to accept his. He didn’t hesitate to bring us together in a swift, captivating moment of passion, one that was all very new to me, yet at the same time felt so right; so natural.

I pulled back out of the kiss – our breaths shallow and fast; our hearts pounding hard against our chests – and attempted to undo the buttons holding the vest together. John impatiently brought his hands into the situation, shooing mine away and ripping the two sides apart like an animal. A few of the buttons went flying in all directions, and the thought of how upset Freddie was going to be when he got the vest back was the last thing on either of our minds as I tore the garment off and John swooped in, pressing his lips against my bare stomach. His kisses were warm and pleasant, and although they felt nice on my stomach, I would’ve rather had them on my lips…or better yet, somewhere lower, _much_ lower.

John sat back as I started to fumble with the button and zipper of my pants, muttering, “Just pull it,” while tugging the black blouse he wore over his head. I compliantly fell beside him and continued my struggle, eager to get the clothes off and feel his bare skin against mine.

I apparently wasn’t doing it quick enough for John’s liking, having elicited an annoyed, “Or I’ll pull it,” from him before he dove in again and planted kisses that were gentle yet rough all at once up my torso. My head sunk into the grass bed, a moan being drawn from the back of my throat as John’s half-bare body weighed down on mine, his fingers hooking underneath my waistband and bringing my pants closer to my knees.

I reached up to do the same with his, but he was already one step ahead of me, sitting tall on top of me and tearing his belt from around his waist and tossing it carelessly to the side. It took him practically no time at all to slide out of his pants and throw them on top of the belt, tackling my bottoms next. I bucked my hips upward to help, earning one of his famous smiles before he yanked the garment from my ankles.

Stripped naked, the two of us took a moment to catch our labored breaths and stare at each other, taking one another in for everything we were. I felt vulnerable underneath him, trapped between his thighs and wrapped in the heat radiating from his bare body. The way the moonlight hanging above us reflected off his back gave him an almost angelic appearance, and never before had I wanted anyone as much as I wanted John then.

 “God, Roger,” he mumbled under his breath, wrapping his hands around my knees and running them down my thighs, his fingers teasing the area below my waist that had been building with pressure. His misty eyes trailed down my torso, landing on the noticeable bulge that strained against my underwear and causing him to smile. “I didn’t know you had it so bad for me,” he commented wistfully, his tongue grazing his bottom lip before it got pulled underneath his teeth.

“W-Wait,” I told him, sitting up on my elbows and snapping him right out of the lustful daze he’d fallen into. “Are we really going to do this?”

His face fell instantly, a look of concern washing over him like a heavy tide as he straightened his posture. “Why? D-Do you not want to? Because if that’s the case, you’ve been sending me some very mixed messages, Roger, and—”

I shook my head. “No, John, I do. It’s just…” I couldn’t bare to look into his eyes as I turned my head to the side and admitted shamefully, “I’ve never done this before…with a guy.” My cheeks immediately grew hot, and my gaze wouldn’t have returned to his if it wasn’t for his hand that gently grabbed my chin and pulled my attention back to him.

“Hey, that...that’s okay. Don’t worry about it. There's a first time for everything, right?” he asked softly. I nodded my head in agreement, watching as a small grin appeared on his face before he slowly leaned down and pressed his lips to mine.

I gradually melted into the moment, letting his lips dance across mine and take away all the worries and fears that had suddenly made me very weary about this whole situation. I’d wanted this for so long, but now that I had it, now that it was happening, there was this indescribable nagging feeling I couldn’t shake.

I tried my best to ignore it by focusing on John and the growing friction that had returned with a raging vengefulness, and after a while, I found myself writhing in pure ecstasy underneath him. I wanted to stay in this moment forever – just him and me, together, alone, able to wordlessly express our feelings towards one another. I clutched onto him to keep myself grounded, to remind myself that I was still on earth, when he suddenly slipped his hand underneath me, followed by his finger that slid up inside of me.

I yelped at the sudden sharp pain that shot through my body and pushed myself away from him. “What the fuck, John?” I screamed before groaning and curling up into a ball, rocking myself back and forth ever so slightly as John went into a silent panic, hands clasped over his mouth in horror. “Jesus fucking Christ, man,” I growled in discomfort, “That bloody hurt! You…You couldn’t have given me some kind of warning or something?”

“I-I’m so sorry, Rog,” he stammered, his hands beginning to tremble nervously. He tried to hide it by embedding them in his hair, but I’d already noticed. “I-I thought you were ready; I didn’t—”

“Why on earth would you fucking do that?” I angrily cut his nonsensical babbling short, meeting his gaze with eyes wide with hurt.

John shook his head like he didn’t know. “W-Well I couldn’t just…” he began to explain, his voice trailing off and his hands attempting to finish his sentence for him, but I couldn’t understand what he was trying to get at – my head too in the clouds for me to make sense of his gesture.

The bassist sighed in defeat and tilted his head back, looking up at the sky for a long time before returning his attention to me and saying as calmly as he could manage, “Look, Roger, I can’t just… _go in_. I need to…to loosen you up first…and, and then…” He hung his head and covered his face with his hands, muttering, “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I knew this was a bad idea. You stupid, stupid idiot!” and with each iteration of “stupid,” he pounded fists against his temples.

As I watched John mentally and physically beat himself up, I couldn’t help but feel a tad bit guilty for how I’d reacted. I couldn’t help it, though; I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t know.

“Hey,” I murmured, pulling myself up with a difficulty I tried my best to mask and gently moving his hands away from his head, “Don’t say that. This wasn’t a bad idea. We just…we need to find our groove. Like when we’re working on a new song with Freddie and Brian!” I tacked on, my voice cracking in desperation to bring some light to the quickly darkening situation.

John averted his disappointed gaze to his lap and mumbled, “Please don’t talk about the guys. I really don’t want to think about them right now.”

I frowned, realizing that I didn’t want to think about them either even though I was the one to bring them up. Now that I had, all I could think about were their judgments, and their never-ending comments and questions that were bound to ensue the second John and I returned to that flat, or the studio, or wherever we ended up after tonight.

_Oh God._

“Why don't we try this again, John?” I blurted out quietly, unwilling to keep dwelling on my thoughts that were beginning to spiral out of control and bringing the bassist’s skeptical gaze up. “I-I want this,” I told him, getting myself back into position and looking down at his confused and honestly frightened stare. “Just…do something to…to make it…” I bit my lip as I tried to determine how I wanted to complete my idea, my vocabulary failing me miserably.

That’s when it hit me.

A sly smirk appeared on my face, popping one of John’s eyebrows up in suspicion, and I brought my hand up to my mouth, licking my fingers - slowly - and flicking my tongue up when they reached my fingertips. It didn’t take long for him to get the message I meant to convey – his face lighting up with hope – and mirror my actions, even down to the very last part. As the tip of his tongue flicked upward, I could see the thick trail of saliva being severed by the growing distance.

I’d never been more turned on in my life.

I could tell John was anxious, worried about having a repeat of what happened moments before, but he persisted nevertheless with the seemingly effortless confidence he exuded whenever we had a show to put on. It was like his secret weapon that got him through any challenging or new situation he found himself in. Besides, this was what all our messing around was destined to lead to. Heaven forbid we missed the opportunity. It wasn’t often we found time to be by ourselves, away from the two oth—

I gasped in shock as I felt his slick finger slip inside of me for the second time that evening, my back arching upward towards the dark blanket that had been cast over the university. He started to gently thrust his hand forward and back, moving his finger in and out. I squeezed my eyes shut and squirmed underneath the bassist’s touch, biting my lip hard to keep myself from screaming out again. The discomfort I willed myself to endure eventually was replaced with pleasure as I got used to the new feeling, even starting to want more.

John must’ve been reading my mind, because without warning, he added a second finger, earning a loud, uncontrollable, high-pitched moan from me as the amazing feeling coursing through my entire body doubled. The moment continued to intensify, and before I knew it, I was dripping wet all over and – unable to hold off any longer – telling him that I was ready. My words came out breathlessly and would’ve most likely gone unheard had John’s head not been at my chest, sucking on my nipple.

All he gave was a nod of his head before sitting back and running a hand through his hair, flipping it out of his face and over his head and giving me time to move into a better position. I looked down at him and swallowed the lump in my throat, this night ending much better than I ever thought it would.

“You ready this time?” he whispered. I nodded my head, a grin stretching from ear to ear. He smiled in return and placed his hands on my knees, slowly and carefully guiding himself inside of me. My hands instinctively dug into the soft grass below us.

“Oh…Oh, John. _John!_ ”


	14. Chapter 14

Time had escaped both our minds that night, becoming an abstract concept as we indulged ourselves in one another and explored new territories – at least, new for me. I couldn’t say the same for John; he seemed like he’d done this a few times before, knowing exactly what to do and when to do it, and how to do it just right. 

The world disappeared from around us, leaving nothing but the two of us behind. When our surroundings returned to us after what felt like an eternity, I almost didn’t believe that what happened actually happened.

I knew I was on the rooftop, I knew I was naked, and I knew John was lying beside me – also naked – with his arm draped over my stomach and his head resting on my shoulder. It felt so surreal, though. With the dark, glimmering sky above us illuminating the remnants of the night I knew I’d be unable to forget about, I wondered what this meant for us, for me; what was going to happen now.

I thought John was the one who couldn’t be figured out, yet here I was the entire time, just as much of a mystery as he was. For the longest time, I was fairly certain I knew who I was, what I wanted in life, where I was going, all of that. It’s what caught Brian’s attention when we first met, when I auditioned for his band with Tim. He liked that about me – how I knew exactly what I wanted, and how I wasn’t willing to let anything get in the way of that.

Then John came along.

He came along and messed everything up, him and his perfect indifferent persona. It was how he got away with so much – by keeping quiet, by confiding only in those he knew he could trust. Was it really trust that he looked for, though? Because if so, I was the wrong person for that; Brian or Freddie could tell you that in a heartbeat. I was too stubborn to be trustworthy, most of the time only caring about myself. “A blessing and a curse,” the curly-haired man said about it one time when it came up in discussion over breakfast. So, why me?

I glanced down at John whose eyes were resting peacefully and whose slightly parted lips were pressed against my chest, a small puddle of drool forming on my sticky skin. I heaved a sigh and looked back up at the deep blue, almost black blanket that hung over us, picturing how things would be when the moon would fall behind the horizon and the sun would rise to take its place.

John would wake to find me already up, having stayed up the entire night. I wouldn’t tell him that it was because of my questioning about everything I thought I knew. Instead, I would smile at him and he would shower me with a few kisses, maybe even try for another go before we put our clothes back on and dragged ourselves to the parking lot where we’d try to figure out how we were going to get home.

I’d suggest something unrealistic that would instantly solve our problem, and John would suggest something more logical. We’d go with his idea and return to the flat, where we’d walk through the door and Brian would be sitting at the table with a cup of tea in one hand and _The Times_ in the other. The guitarist would then look at us over the paper, taking a sip of the steaming beverage and saying nothing before returning his attention to the article he was reading.

Freddie would be nowhere in sight, bursting through the door long after John and I arrived and immediately calling us all together to tell us about his eventful evening. We’d listen as best we could, and I would look over at John, thinking about the night _we_ had and debating how long I’d be able to keep it a secret for.

Secrets weren’t something that lasted long between Brian, Freddie, and me, especially with the singer’s lack of understanding in what the phrase “privacy” meant, yet John maintained them with ease. He wouldn’t have any problem acting like nothing had happened; after all, it’s what he’d suggested we do from the beginning. I knew myself, though, and that conversation that was bound to ensue at the dining table or in the common area would be a true test for me.

I wouldn’t even know what to tell them if I couldn’t keep quiet about it, struggling to fully grasp what happened myself. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to deal with that discovery just yet either. I liked things the way they were; they’d finally seemed to fall into place. Was this going to change that? And if it was, would it be for better or for worse? I couldn’t imagine it being for the better. No one would want to sign us to their label if they knew. It just wasn’t something people saw in a positive light.

“What have we done?” I whispered under my breath as I mindlessly sat up out of John’s hold, unintentionally stirring him awake.

“Hey,” he mumbled tiredly, rubbing his eyes with one hand and using the other to wrap his fingers around my shoulder, trying to bring me back down to him, “What are you doing?”

I looked back at the bassist and frowned. I didn’t really know what I was doing; I just felt the need to get away. So, I moved farther away from him and reached for the pile of the clothes, picking my pants out from it. I could feel John’s eyes on me as I pulled them on, standing up to get them over my waist.

“You’re not happy,” he stated, sitting up himself and pulling his knees into his chest, his arms wrapping around his shins and his chin resting on his kneecaps.

All I could do was shrug, bending down and snatching the vest up from the pile next. I held it out in front of me and sighed. More than half of the buttons were missing; Freddie wasn’t going to like that.  

“You’re feeling ill about it, aren’t you?” John asked, trying to get me to talk.

I remained silent, sticking my arms through the sparkling, sleeveless piece of clothing and pulling the two sides together as best I could.

“I knew we shouldn’t have done this,” he murmured dejectedly, drawing my attention over to him as he stood up and grabbed his clothes to change into. “I knew it. We should’ve talked.”

A chuckle escaped from my mouth, followed by a rather thoughtless and blunt “Kinda late for that, isn’t it?” that earned a terrified expression from him. It was then that I realized what I had said, but more particularly _how_ I said it.

I didn’t have time to redeem myself before he said, “So you hated it. I see.”

“John, that’s not—” I muttered as he turned his back to me and started pulling his clothes on. I felt frozen in place, staring at him as the words I wanted to say got stuck in my throat. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t hate it. I felt something much worse about it – I loved it. I loved it so much that it scared me, and maybe that was why I was so hesitant to tell him. Because if I said it out loud, then it would make it real; I’d have to come to terms with the fact that things had changed, and that they were never going to be the same ever again.

Faced with the reality of our situation, I went into flight mode and - in a rash decision - brushed past him, heading straight for the stairs that led back to the parking lot. His voice hit my ear faintly as I slammed the door behind me and started to run down the flight of steps, attempting to ride the rails halfway down but quickly realizing that wasn’t an option. I ignored John as his frantic footsteps and pleas for me to stop echoed through the stairwell and jumped the last few steps, breaking out onto the asphalt. I didn’t get very far before the man I was running away from caught up to me, grabbing me by the arm and spinning me around to face him.

He didn’t get the chance to say what he wanted to, with his voice being stolen by another. “There you two are!” We looked behind us to see Brian sitting on one of the benches outside the university with Tim. I raised an eyebrow in surprise, having not seen Tim since he told us he was leaving us for Humpy Bong.

Brian handed Tim the beer he was sharing with him and stood up, stumbling over to John and me – looking like a man trying to walk on stilts even though that’s just how long his legs were – and pulling us both into an inebriated, bone-crushing hug. My cheeks immediately went red thinking about how long the two must’ve been there, and how much they must’ve heard. “I’ve been looking for you guys everywhere!”

John laughed, stepping out of the embrace and nodding towards Tim. “It sure looks like it.” The former singer and bass player raised his drink in recognition before finishing Brian’s drink for him and adding the two amber bottles to the other four that were by his feet; there were even more kicked underneath the bench. _Well, shit._

“I really did!” Brian tried to convince us, his speech starting slur and his balance starting to waver the longer he stood before us. “I-I looked everywhere and…and I couldn’t find you! Where were you guys?” He staggered forward, and John and I instinctively shot our arms out to catch him, but our reaction accomplished the opposite of what we wanted it to, pushing him back all without us laying a finger on him – right into Tim’s arms. The tall guitarist broke out into a fit of laughter as he realized what had happened, getting a laugh out of Tim too. John and I, however, stayed quiet.

I crossed my arms over my chest as my old bandmate glanced over at me, explaining with a stupid grin on his face, “Yeah…he might’ve had one too many drinks. You know how he gets when he drinks, Rog.”

“Yeah, Tim, I do,” I responded coldly, my grudge against him that I’d honestly forgotten about returning with full force.

I began to wonder what he was even doing here as an awkward moment of silence fell upon the four of us, though it wasn’t total silence – Brian had become an unstoppable giggling mess, finding everything hilarious even though nothing was going on.

Tim’s eyes wandered over to John at one point and he chuckled, sticking a hand out and saying, “I’m Tim, by the way, if you didn’t know.”

“John,” he replied civilly, placing his hand in Tim’s and giving it a solid shake.

“John,” Tim repeated slowly, as if registering the name in his mind. That’s when it clicked for him. “Ah, you must be the guy Brian was telling me about! All good things, all good things,” he assured him.

My gaze that had locked on my feet was drawn over to John who laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, that’s a relief I suppose. I’m sorry to say that I haven’t heard much about you.”

“All you need to know about him is that he’s a fucking backstabber…” I interjected before the traitor could present himself with a web of lies, “…and an asshole, and a liar, and a thief—”

Both men gave me weird looks while Brian tried to scamper off, living in his own world and minding his own business. Tim held him back, though, keeping him at an arm’s distance. “A _thief_?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, a _thief_ ,” I said again, my voice low and gravelly as I did my best to refrain from going off on him. I would’ve thought that, with John around, my resentment towards Tim would have vanished. Apparently, it had just been suppressed, waiting to be released the next time I saw him. I just didn’t think it’d be this soon.

“Hey, Tim, why don’t we take Brian off your hands?” John kindly offered in an attempt to relieve the tense situation we were quickly finding ourselves in, reaching out for the guitarist. “I’m sure you’ve had enough of his drunken nonsense anyways, and I think it’s time for him to call it a night, yeah?"

“Agreed,” the original bassist retorted with a slight laugh.

“Nooooooo,” Brian whined pathetically as he was transferred from Tim to John, pouting his lips out and mumbling as he collapsed into John’s arms, “I don’t want to gooooo. Tim and I were just starting to talk about yooouuuu.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Bri, it’s time to go home.”

“Okaaaayyy,” the guitarist murmured in slight defeat, clinging to the bassist like a sleepy baby monkey.

John rubbed his back and began making his way towards our van that had been parked right outside the university’s entrance, telling Tim along the way that it was nice to meet him. Tim said the same, adding that he hoped he’d see him again. His eyes traveled back over to me and, with that irritating intoxicated smile of his, tacked on, “I hope to see you again too, blondie.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I responded with a hint of skepticism and a whole lot of sarcasm, sliding my hands into my pants pockets and biting my cheek, “You’ve probably been so busy with your new band. What are they called again? Frumpy Thong?”

He scoffed and folded his arms over his chest. “Come on, Rog. Don't be like that. You know how it is out there. It wasn’t anything personal. When are you going to realize that?”

“Maybe when _you_ realize that it wasn’t just the band you left behind that day,” I argued, saying no more before abandoning him in the parking lot and hopping in the passenger seat of the van, slamming the door shut behind me. I angrily strapped the seat belt over my chest and secured it into place, looking up to meet John’s concerned gaze that was illuminated by the flood light outside of the university. “What?” I snapped.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice the exact opposite of mine.

“I’m fine,” I answered tersely, just wanting to go home and fall asleep so that the day would be over with already. I originally wanted it to last forever, but that was up on the rooftop when it was only John and me, and when the rest of the world didn’t seem to exist.  

“But are you okay…everywhere?” he emphasized, his eyes flickering down to my waist. I raised an amused eyebrow that almost instantly made my previous mood dissipate. He shifted awkwardly in the seat when I didn’t give him an immediate answer and stuttered, “I-I mean—”

I laughed, cutting him short. “I know what you mean, John. I’m still fine – a little sore, but fine.” I glanced back over my shoulder to see Brian lain across the back seat, curled up in a ball just so that he’d fit. His head was tilted to the side, with a bucket conveniently placed in front of him on the floor just in case he got sick on the ride back to the flat, and subtle snores were escaping from his parted lips as he dozed off. If John had asked him the same question – without the additional context, of course – he probably would’ve said the same thing, but I already knew that by the time morning came around, he’d be saying something different.

John cleared his throat and my attention went back to him, watching in slight embarrassment as he anxiously continued his game of twenty questions. “Yeah, but did you mind it when—”

“You stuck your finger up my ass?” I enthusiastically finished his sentence for him, causing him to go a bright shade of red while I just chuckled. “Do you really want to talk about it, John?”

“Well…not if you don’t want to,” he replied sheepishly, wrapping his hands around the steering wheel and taking in a deep breath.

I dropped my hand on his shoulder and brought his gaze back over to me, the corner of my lip perking upward in a sympathetic smirk. “It’s late, man. Let’s just go home.”

He nodded his head in agreement and started the van up, ready to shift gears and get us on our way when he suddenly retracted his hand and sat back in his seat. “Hold on a sec.” He started patting his body with both hands, feeling for something that wasn’t there. He met my gaze and explained, “I think I forgot something. I’ll be right back.”

I didn’t get the chance to object or even acknowledge his remark before he exited the vehicle and scampered off to retrieve whatever it was that he left behind, closing the door behind him and causing Brian to stir a bit. I ignored Brian’s slurred complaint as I adjusted the rearview mirror to get a glimpse of John retreating to the roof, Tim joining me in watching him as he disappeared in the stairwell and returned shortly after.

As the bassist was making his way back over to the van, Tim stopped him. I raised a suspicious eyebrow as they began talking. Heads nodded, a brief, shared laugh filled the air, and the short exchange ended with a quick farewell hug and a pat from Tim on John’s shoulder.

With a sudden rage surging through my veins and the distance between John and the vehicle shrinking, I quickly threw the rearview mirror back into place and tried to make it seem like I hadn’t observed their encounter, crossing my arms over my chest and turning my head to look out the window. I glanced back when I heard the door click open, John holding up his wallet and saying, “That was a close one.”

“Yeah,” I agreed bitterly, keeping my arms folded and staring at him as he resituated himself, strapping the seatbelt over his chest and finally putting the car into drive.

He didn’t seem to notice my change in attitude as we pulled away from the curb, leaving Tim behind in the dust. I kept my eyes locked on John and the stupid grin he wore for the longest time before peering into the sideview mirror at Tim, who had sat himself back down on the bench and was bringing yet another bottle to his lips. I rolled my eyes and shook my head, my contempt for the man flaring up like it hadn’t in months.

_What was he doing at the show tonight, and what did he say to John?_


	15. Chapter 15

“Alright, take it easy; take it easy,” John instructed as he and I carefully pulled Brian out of the van, the tall man acting like dead weight in our arms as he struggled to support himself. Dried vomit stuck to his hair and his breath was something awful, but we needed to get him inside. As we helped him out of the vehicle, his feet and legs must’ve forgotten what to do when they felt the ground beneath them, because he nearly brought the three of us down as he let gravity take hold and tug him towards the asphalt.

“For fuck’s sake, Brian!” I cursed under my breath, grunting as I lifted him up – John doing the same but on the other side, “Who let you have so many drinks?”

“Hey, has anyone told you how pretty you look?” he murmured with pouted lips, dragging his finger down my face that scrunched up in response. A giggle slipped past his lips that had been turned upward into a grin before his head dropped with his hand, his entire body hanging heavily in our grasps. I looked over at John with narrowed, annoyed eyes.

He smiled, repeating Brian’s drunken question in a mocking kind of way. “Yeah, Roger, has anyone told you how pretty you look?”

“Shut up,” I growled, staggering towards the apartment that – had the sky not started to lighten up – would’ve been completely disguised by the shadows of the night. There were no lights on, as expected. Freddie rarely returned from his evening’s sexual escapades until the sun was high and half the day had already gone by, so unless one of us forgot to turn off a lamp, the apartment was usually cast in complete darkness – making it very difficult to make it up the steps without tripping over ourselves. It was even harder when one of us couldn’t even be bothered to remember how to traverse a staircase, let alone walk.

“Almost there,” John whispered encouragingly, “We’ve got this. Just a few more steps…”

When we miraculously reached the top – Brian only holding us back once – the guitarist threw John and me off him as he lazily raised his hands in the air in celebration, his speech noticeably slurred as he declared, “Yaaayyy, we maaade it!” We both flinched as he stumbled forward, falling right into the apartment door, the side of his face smushed up against it and his hands clinging to the flat surface as if it would actually help him stand. He giggled and closed his eyes, his body crumbling to the floor as he decided to make that be the spot he was going to fall asleep.

I glanced over at John who was just watching Brian in pure amazement, his arms crossed over his chest and a wide smile stretched across his face. He returned my gaze and said, “What do you think? Should we leave him here? I mean, he just looks so comfortable.”

I put my hands up in surrender. “Up to you. I’m done moving him.”

The bassist looked down at the sleeping guitarist and sighed, resting his hands on his hips. “Well I can’t just leave him out here all by himself.”

“Then have fun moving him on your own,” I replied sarcastically, patting him on the shoulder and stepping over Brian. I snatched the keys out from John’s extended hand and undid the lock, pushing the door in and causing the curly-haired man to fall forward over the threshold, the upper half of his body in the apartment while his long legs stuck outside. John and I shared another quick look, smiles slowly growing on both of our faces, before I retreated inside.

I tossed the keys on the kitchen table and kicked my shoes off, going straight for the bathroom. First it was the vest to be dropped to the floor, then my pants. As I situated myself in front of the toilet, I became distracted by the grunts coming from the other side of the door, accompanied by the sound of Brian being dragged across the floors to his and Freddie’s room. That all was interrupted by a loud thump, followed by a groan and a quiet string of apologies before the sound picked up again. I smirked.

As I finished up in the bathroom, pulling my pants back on and turning my attention to my reflection, I couldn’t help but notice how much of a wreck I’d become. My neck was covered in small bruises and my hair was disheveled in every direction. My lips were slightly swollen and there was a lustful haze still cast over my eyes from before. I doubted sleep would help any, and I wondered about how I was going to hide this from Freddie. He for sure would notice and say something; Brian probably already would’ve too if he wasn’t so plastered.

“Are you going to hold what happened tonight against me?” a voice sounded in my ear, startling me and stealing my gaze from the reversed image of myself. Standing in the doorway, leaned up against the threshold with his hands in his pockets and his lips curled into a devious grin, was John.

I could feel the hot blush rise in my cheeks. I quickly tried to subdue it and shifted my attention to the sink I was clinging onto, replying with a simple but honest, “No.”

“I need to you to look at me and say it,” he demanded, a strict but desperate undertone to his command.

I glanced over at him, repeating myself in a sarcastic manner, “No, John, I will not hold what happened tonight against you.” His eyes narrowed as I smirked, shaking my head and changing the subject by asking, “So did you get him in bed?” Him being Brian.

“Well I tried,” he answered modestly, “But he kept sliding off the mattress, so I just left him on the floor. He seemed to like it there. I’m just hoping Freddie won’t step on him when he comes home.” I failed to resist the smile that the statement brought to my face. “Come here,” he ordered, his command lighthearted yet demanding and his eyes widening ever so slightly in a suggestive manner.

I bit my lip and pushed myself away from the porcelain fixture, slowly dragging myself over to him. When I got close enough, John took a step back out into the hallway and motioned for me to stand where he was. I raised a suspicious eyebrow but nonetheless followed his order, watching in bewilderment as he dropped to his knees and looked up at me, a smirk on his face.

“Take your pants off,” he whispered seductively.

My eyebrows furrowed together at the obscurity of the request, but with how tired I was, I didn’t have the energy or self-control to fight him on it. So, without second thought, I did as he said, my pants falling to my ankles for the second time since we got home.

The smirk he was wearing evolved into a smile, his hands finding their way to my hips and his fingers pressing into my soft skin as he leaned in. The air began to grow thin, and it wasn’t long before my heightened breathing hitched – his warm tongue running along the length of my cock. My arms instinctively shot outward and gripped the threshold to steady myself – a surge of ecstasy that wasn’t quite as strong as it was before beginning to course through my body.

My eyes closed shut and my tightly pressed lips perked up at the corners, my head falling back as I started to revel in the intensifying feeling. On the ride home, I couldn’t even fathom going for round two that night, but as John’s mouth wrapped around my—

He pulled away and swiped his thumb across his bottom lip, cutting the thin string of drool connecting him to me and tilting his head back to get a better look up at me. “Well, that’s promising – you’re hard again.” A confused expression appeared on my face as he smacked my thigh and jumped up from the ground, pinching my cheek like Freddie always did. “Good.” He pursed his lips out in an imaginary kiss and disappeared down the hallway, retreating into his and my bedroom and closing the door behind him.

I staggered into the hallway and stared at the closed door, crossing my arms over my bare chest. “How is that good?” I shouted after him. 

*****

Morning rolled in without warning and treated none of us with any justice. It might’ve just been one of our worst mornings since my twenty-first birthday the previous year. That evening absolutely destroyed us as a group, and although last night was far from my twenty-first birthday, the effects were still the same.

Contradictory to my prediction, we – minus Freddie – were gathered in the kitchen, the three of us tolerating one another’s company in a tension-filled silence.

Brian was hunched over in his chair, his hands buried in his curly, stiff locks and his head tilted down in a perpetual stare with the table his elbows were resting on. It was easy to see and smell that he hadn’t taken a shower yet.

John dared to sit across from him, arms folded over his chest and his head laid back, the air acting as an invisible pillow as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Occasionally he’d let out a snore and startle himself awake, but it wouldn’t be long before he started the cycle over again.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t sit at all, and instead opted to lean against the counter, my eyes heavy and my body aching with exhaustion. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. I wasn’t sure I could handle staying in the same room as John after everything that happened, and so, needing some space to wrap my head around the situation, I chose to stay in the living room and watch the sun rise over the horizon – standing, of course. My feet were awfully sore, but the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as it was before, which made me wonder if I was starting to grow a tolerance for things like that.

I had reason to believe John’s night was just as bad as mine was, because I heard him up on the roof at one point, listening to the radio I had yet to return to Freddie and Brian and the song I had recorded, over and over again. I was so tempted to join him, to relive that one amazing night we had up there before the day would break and we’d have to go back to hiding our feelings towards one another. However, I knew that would only make things worse. Who knew what would’ve happened had we gone all night?

“I feel like absolute trash,” Brian grumbled, attracting both John’s and my weary attentions and unknowingly speaking for all of us.

“Yeah, well, you can thank Tim for that,” I mumbled in response, rubbing my eyes and letting out a yawn.

He raised his head up from off the table. “Tim? When did I see Tim?”

“Last night, after the show,” John explained, his voice low and his eyelids fluttering shut once again, “You were outside drinking with him.”

A worried expression appeared on the guitarist’s face as he straightened his posture and looked to John and me for answers. “I-I don’t remember that,” he stammered, shooting up from the seat and sending it flying across the floor in a brief, loud screech, “I-I don’t remember anything from last night…except...except for…”

I knew it was awful, but there was an overwhelming flood of relief that washed over me upon hearing his struggle to recollect last night’s events. A hint of jealousy rode that wave too, because I remembered every bit of it, and the more I thought about it, the more I wished I could forget what happened. My thoughts had been clouding my mind all night, getting louder and louder until one moment it was morning and Brian was stumbling out of his bedroom, followed by John shortly after, and then there the three of us were, wordlessly discussing how we were going to recover from the night before.

“Shit,” Brian muttered in defeat, grabbing the chair and plopping back down in it, returning to his original position, “I’ve got nothing.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” I chimed in, drawing his saddened yet hopeful expression over to me, “You didn’t really miss much.” Except, he did. He missed a lot – thankfully. I wasn’t sure I could deal with the guitarist’s paternal-like scrutiny today.

He frowned at me in disappointment and leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs out underneath the table and folding his hands atop his stomach, saying, “Well I guess all we can do is sit here and wait for Freddie to come home. Then we can decide what to do.”

 _Maybe you could clean yourself up, now that you’re able to stand on your own_ , I wanted to tell him, but before my brain could send the message to my mouth – and probably for the best – John opened his eyes and sat up, replying, “Actually, I was going to go out today.”

“Where?” I asked almost instinctively, a jealous undertone to my question.

“I made plans to meet up in town with someone I met at the show last night,” he explained, keeping his future whereabouts vague. He wrapped his hand around the handle of the coffee mug in front of him and brought the now room-temperature beverage to his lips, hoping we wouldn’t pester him about it.

He clearly had forgotten who we were.

“Who?” Brian inquired, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Yeah, who?” I repeated tersely, peeling away from the kitchen counter and walking over to the table. I snatched up the cigarette box and lighter that sat in between John and Brian and extracted one of the coveted sticks from the crumpled package, shakily bringing it up to my lips with one hand and using the other to light up.

John shrugged his shoulders as I took in a deep breath of nicotine and let it out slowly, waiting for his answer. “No one in particular. Just someone interested in talking about basses.”

Brian and I shared a suspicious look, the two of us wordlessly agreeing that we wanted to know more, but before either of us could interrogate him further, the front door flew open to reveal Freddie, glowing like an angel in the early morning sunlight – even though he was no angel.

“Darlings!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and waltzing over to us, “You will _not_ believe the night I just had.” Freddie dropped an arm over my shoulder and pulled me close, turning my head with his free hand and planting a sloppy, wet kiss on my cheek. “Oh Roger, dear, thank god you’re here. I swore you had snuck off with me and I was worried l left you behind.”

I forced an awkward laugh out of me. “Why would you think that? I-I was with Brian all night,” I lied, pointing the burning stick in the curly-haired man’s direction, who instinctively raised his hands in surrender, showing he couldn’t testify for or against my claim. My eyes flickered over to John who tilted his head down and rubbed the back of his neck, as if the room had suddenly grown warmer.

“Oh, _sure_ you were,” the singer shot back, laughing hysterically and flailing himself away from me. A deep blush flushed my cheeks a bright shade of red as he walked over to the coffee machine and pulled out the carafe, snatching a mug from the draining board and pouring himself a cup. “I love playing this game, you know,” he went on to say, glancing over his shoulder to meet my embarrassed yet angered gaze, “Acting like we don’t know what _really_ happened last night…”

“I should get ready to go,” John blurted out, jumping up from the table and adding for good measure, “It wouldn’t be fair of me to keep them waiting.”

None of us tried to keep him back as he practically ran into the bedroom hallway, the slam of either our bedroom door or the bathroom door following his escape. I put the cigarette back up to my lips in an attempt to calm my rising nerves, glaring at Freddie who seemed genuinely confused by the bassist’s reaction.

“What’s up with him?” he muttered, blowing on the steaming beverage in his hands and taking a quick sip of it, “I’m only joking, you know; I didn’t think he’d take it so seriously.”

I watched as Freddie walked away, retreating to the bedroom hallway as well but at a much calmer, slower, leisurely pace. I shook my head and returned my attention to the only man left in the room. I couldn’t help but notice the metaphorical lightbulb illuminate over his head, drawing his widened eyes up to mine as if he knew there was some truth to Fred’s joke; as if he pieced what little he remembered from last night together to understand why John had stormed off, and why I was so on edge.

Keeping my eyes locked on his and trying hard to not show how upset I’d become, I took in another shaky drag and let it out to the side, trying to think of something to say to alleviate the tension that began to permeate the small apartment but ultimately not needing to as Freddie’s voice echoed through the walls. “ROGER MEDDOWS TAYLOR, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY VEST!?!”

An entertained smirk appeared on Brian’s face as he asked me – all without moving his lips – what I had done. I felt he already had a pretty good idea, but I still answered with the deepening red in my cheeks and a grin that matched his. What he or Freddie didn’t know, though, was that it wasn’t me.


	16. Chapter 16

After Freddie’s fit of rage that ensued upon his discovery of the marred sequin vest – in which he cursed me out for ruining one of his favorite pieces of clothing and ripped my ego to shreds – I found myself in the common room with Brian. The two of us couldn’t take Fred seriously as he went off, throwing his arms everywhere and getting all red in the face, and our nonchalant amusement in his theatrics only made things worse. So, having pushed him past his breaking point, he left us with the slam of his bedroom door and a big “GO TO HELL, YOU FUCKING WANKERS!”

“LOVE YOU TOO, FRED!” Brian shouted after him, shaking his head with his lips curled up into a smirk as he stood up from the table he was still sitting at and stretched his arms above his head, tickling the ceiling before dropping them to his sides and meeting my gaze. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but no words came out. He even raised a finger in my direction and squinted his eyes, as if he had something _really_ important or thoughtful to tell me, but after resting his hands on his hips, all he managed to get out was a simple “So, you and John.”

I took a long drag from the cigarette that had shortened significantly since it was first lit and let the smoke slowly seep from between my parted lips. “What about us?”

The guitarist stared at me for a long time, still struggling to say what he wanted to with his lasting but gradually dissolving impairment preventing him from doing so. He heaved a frustrated sigh and hung his head, finally blurting out, “Just be careful, Rog, okay? I don’t think I can handle seeing you get hurt again.”

I chuckled at his sentiment and crossed my arms over my chest, trying to dissuade him from his concern, “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about, Bri.”

“Roger, I’m not an idiot.” He threw his hand in the direction of the door that John had escaped out of during Freddie’s meltdown. “I see the way you two act around each other, and I’ve witnessed and heard some things I really wish I didn’t. Now, I don’t care if you guys are together or whatnot—”

“And who the hell said we’re together?” I interrupted him, growing defensive.

He shot a disappointed frown at me. “How many times do we have to have this conversation, Rog? We’ve known each other for too long to keep playing this game. Hell, I probably know you better than you know yourself.” I laughed and shook my head in disbelief. “Oh, come on. Don’t get like that.”

“Like _what_?” I snapped childishly.

“Like that!” he cried, bringing a hand up to his head and explaining in aggravated defeat, “I’m just trying to look out for you, is that so wrong?”

I scoffed. “Well, I didn’t ask you to.”

Brian groaned and brought his other hand up, clutching his hair tightly and his eyebrows furrowing together in pain as he began to curl into himself. “Roger, I don’t have the energy to fight you on this. Just be careful, okay?”

“Careful of what?” I screamed at him as he disappeared into the bedroom hallway like everyone else had this morning, leaving me to stand alone in the small apartment which had grown silent like it typically did at night – except the sky wasn’t dark, and no one was asleep. I raised the cigarette to my lips one last time and inhaled as much nicotine as I could, trying to ignore the fact that I knew exactly what he was talking about. I angrily smashed the butt into the dish on the table, unwilling to accept the fact of the matter, and headed towards the door. I didn’t get far, though, stopping at the top of the stairs and quickly turning back around.

I reentered the apartment and snatched the pack of cigarettes and lighter up from the table, catching a glimpse of Brian as he peered his head around the corner. “What?” I muttered, pocketing the two items and holding my hands up in innocence, “I’m just going out, Brian. It’s not like I haven’t done it before.”

He stepped out from behind the wall and approached me, holding out one of my many pairs of sunglasses and pleading softly, “Please be careful.”

“Okay, _Mom_ ,” I sneered as I snatched the tinted lenses out of his possession and slipped them on my face, brushing past him without saying anything else and ignoring his “I’m serious, Roger!” as I made my second attempt at leaving the apartment that morning, this time without turning back.

I made my way down into town, the aching in my feet growing more intense with each determined step I took. I didn’t care, though. I wanted to see John, and I needed to find out who he was seeing. There was no way in hell he was just meeting up with someone to talk about playing bass. _Who even does that?_

The pain emanating from my feet became unbearable at one point, and even though I didn’t want to stop walking until I found John, I had no choice but to sit down at one of the tables outside a random café. I hissed at the discomfort and reached down, rubbing my feet through the worn-out sneakers – one of which was starting to fall apart at the seams.

“Roger?”

My head instantly snapped up and my lips perked upward into a grin, my eyes falling upon the tall man standing before me. His arms were folded over his chest and his weight was shifted to one side as he stared down at me with a cocked eyebrow.

“John!” I exclaimed, jumping up and immediately regretting my decision as a jolt of pain surged through my entire body. I nearly crippled over from the awful feeling, but before I could, I grabbed onto the table and rested my other hand on my hip, forcing a grin on my face and saying, “Hey.”

His cheeks turned a flattering, faint shade of red as he surveyed our surroundings, making sure the coast was clear for him to shorten the distance between us and ask me under his breath, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” I whispered slyly, smirking and grabbing onto his shirt, transferring my support from the table to him.

The bassist laughed, wrapping his hands around my wrists and moving my arms back down to my sides. “We just saw each other this morning.”

“And?” I asked, the smile on my face growing even wider as I intertwined my fingers with his, “I wanted to be with you.” Those words didn’t have the effect I hoped they would as John stared at me with what I could only make out to be pity in his eyes, wordlessly conveying the message that he wished I hadn’t followed him; that me being there was only making our situation worse.

I slowly retracted my hands at the self-made realization and staggered away from him, stammering, “You know, I’ll…I’m gonna, I-I’ll go.”

Before I could get anywhere – not that I would’ve gotten far otherwise – John’s slightly-louder-than-it-probably-should’ve-been voice stopped me dead in my tracks. “Do you know how happy I am that we slept together?”

I looked back over my shoulder at him and the growing blush in his cheeks before returning to his side and replying derisively, “No, I don’t know.”

The bassist chuckled and placed his hands on his hips. “Of course, you don’t know.” His gaze shifted down to his feet for a split second before meeting mine again as he explained, “I just don’t want you to regret anything.” My eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “And I’m just worried that I may have messed things up for us or the guys and…” His voice trailed off as I started to understand what he was getting at. I shook my head no, unable to verbally respond. “I really don’t want either of us to pay for this one way or another,” he rattled off as I finally found my voice.

“No, I…It’s not like I’m going to tell anyone,” I tried to tell him, but it didn’t seem to be what he wanted to hear because all he did was scoff and tell me that wasn’t what he was talking about. He brushed shoulders with me as he began to walk away.

I quickly joined his side, our hands grazing one another before he hooked my pinky with his. My eyes flickered down to look, but I kept my head forward and up, not wanting John to notice how his touch had sent my heart into an increasing frenzy and made my pants grow tighter with each step we took.

Becoming acutely aware of my situation, I broke away from John’s side and turned in front of him, pushing myself back into the wall of one the buildings we passed by and watching him proceed forward. He stopped a few feet away, slowly turning around and crossing his arms over his chest.

I brought my thumb up and dragged it across my slightly parted lips, trying to think of the right thing to say. _Please be careful_. There were so many questions I had; so many things I wanted to say to him that would be better said in private, and not in earshot of passersby. I dropped my hand to my side and decided to ask, somewhat irrelevantly, “What do you think’s going to happen when we finish this bloody album?”

The corner of John’s mouth twitched up into a smirk, intrigued by my hypothetical inquiry. He shortened the distance between the two of us and shot his arm out in front of me, pinning me between him and the wall. “Well, what do you _want_ to happen?”

I stared at him for a little bit, thinking of all the answers that immediately came to my mind at his proposal. There were so many things I wanted to happen – things I wanted him to do to me, things I wanted to do to him, and not just after the album was out, but there in that moment too.

I knew we were in public, but it was getting harder and harder to keep myself from falling apart. I needed relief, from him, but before I could gain the courage to express that, he leaned further in and whispered, “You know, I’d kiss you if I could.”

“Would you fuck me?” I asked instinctively, the thought crossing my mind and the filter I honestly never had failing to stop me from vocalizing it. It was too late to do anything, though – I’d already said it. My true feelings were out in the open now, and it was up to him to decide how he would react. Naturally, he had a few options, but it ultimately boiled down to a simple “yes” or “no,” and although I didn’t want to admit it, I desperately wanted his answer to be “yes.”

The blush that had stained his cheeks earlier intensified as he averted his gaze elsewhere. I bit my lip in anticipation of his answer, the knot that formed in the pit of my stomach becoming almost as unbearable as the aching in my feet, and just when I thought he was going to satiate my growing craving, his face went blank like he saw a ghost in the middle of the day; in broad daylight.

I worriedly brought my hand up and grazed his cheek, bringing his attention back to me. The petrified expression that had adorned his face quickly being replaced with a loving one as he blurted out, “Later.”

“Is that a promise?” I murmured, my internal longing manifesting itself in my voice.

John nodded his head in affirmation, a weary grin appearing on his face as he continued to look over his shoulder. My eyebrows wrinkled together as I tried to see what was catching his attention, but before I could pinpoint the source of his fascination, he grabbed my face and crashed his lips into mine. I couldn’t even react before he pulled back and suggested seductively, “How about you go back to the flat and wait for me, yeah?”

“But—”

“I’ll be expecting you to be ready when I get there…” he cut me short, throwing a wink in my direction and making me flinch with a quick slap to the ass, “…and I mean _ready_.”

I watched in utter astonishment as he abandoned my side, leaving me high and dry with no explanation. My narrowed eyes didn’t leave him once as he walked off, hoping I would see where he was going and maybe even who he was meeting up with, but at one point he abruptly disappeared into one of the alleyways jutting out from the street, making the task near impossible.

I plopped back down into the café’s chair and clenched my legs together uncomfortably, writhing in the feeling that only worsened the more I thought about the bassist. I unconsciously brought my hand down to my pants, palming the clothed erection. I hissed at the wave of discomfort that coursed through my body, gritting my teeth as I cursed under my breath for letting John get to me like he had.

There was no use in denying it anymore. Mentally, physically, and emotionally, John Deacon had entered my life and changed it forever, and the worst part of all was that he knew. He knew it, and it was only a matter of time before everyone else knew too.


	17. Chapter 17

I trudged through the front door, exhausted from my trek back from town. My feet were screaming in pain, and although I’d gotten rid of my _other_ problem in the café’s tiny bathroom, I still ached down there. It just wasn’t the same alone.

I unintentionally slammed the door behind me, expecting to receive an immediate scolding for my carelessness from either Brian or Freddie, but instead I was met with silence – pure, unadulterated silence. I raised a suspicious eyebrow and began to wander through the small flat, pushing in every door to find that I was the only one home.

I hummed in pleasant surprise and retreated to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and scanning the shelves for something to eat, since all any of us had this morning in lieu of breakfast were coffee and cigarettes. It wasn’t like we would’ve had anything else; the shelves were almost entirely bare except for a carton of milk, a few beer bottles, a couple of peaches, and a rotten banana. I sighed in disappointment and grabbed one of the peaches, taking it to my bedroom.

I hadn’t realized it upon my first walkthrough, but the room had been tidied up – by who, I had no idea. It was either Brian or Freddie, and I doubted it was the latter. He wouldn’t even tie his own shoes, let alone clean up after someone who wasn’t himself. Hell, he couldn’t even be bothered to clean up after himself most of the time.

Regardless, the beds were neatly made and there wasn’t a single article of clothing strewn about. The only thing kept out was the notebook that had previously been shoved inside my pillowcase, now lying on my bed and turned to the page where I’d last left off, accompanied by the broken pencil I’d been using that night and a note.

I walked forward and set the peach down on the nightstand, exchanging it for the note and instantly recognizing the cursive handwriting scrawled across the lined paper – torn out of the notebook and reading _Keep working on this, I think we should put it on the album_ – to be Brian’s. The _Bri_ at the bottom helped a bit too.

A frown appeared on my face as I glanced back down at the notebook, seeing the words which poured out of me the night I’d confessed my feelings about John to the guitarist; the same words that Freddie repeated back to me the morning after, unsuccessfully taunting me into revealing who they were about when he already knew. The sheer memory made me want to grab the song and rip it up like I had its earlier versions, but the fact that Brian wanted me to continue it made me hesitate.

His approval wasn’t the approval I needed at that moment, but it nevertheless made a difference. Freddie would never consider one of my songs, and if he did, it wouldn’t be _my_ song at the end of it. Brian, on the other hand, was different. I’d known him longer and, although it didn’t seem like it, especially when Freddie was around, he always saw potential in everyone and everything – including me, and to see that he believed my song was good enough for the album meant a lot.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed, picking up the notebook and lying back, my extended arms holding the song over my head. I pursed my lips out as I tried to figure where I would even take it, but all I could think about was what went down this morning – John’s suspiciousness, his sudden change in behavior, the promise he’d left me with…

I bit my lip and dropped the notebook to the floor, staring up at the ceiling and resting my hands on my stomach. I lied like that for a while, with John’s and my conversation playing over and over in my head like a broken record.

_“How about you go back to the flat and wait for me, yeah?”_

_“But—”_

_“I’ll be expecting you to be ready when I get there…and I mean_ ready _.”_

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat and dug my teeth even farther into my lip, knowing exactly what he meant but also _not_ knowing if I could do it.

I used to be able to do everything without a second thought. I was invincible, a complete “yes” man, but that was before I entered this unchartered territory with John. Now, with each passing day, I felt like I was walking a thin line between losing it all and keeping the façade up. I couldn’t decide which I was more afraid of losing, though, my reputation or John. I dreaded losing either; they both meant so much to me.

I groaned and sat up, bending over to pull out Brian and Freddie’s radio that I’d hidden underneath my bed. I set it on the nightstand beside the peach and turned it on, messing with the dials as I turned the volume all the way up and tried to find a station whose music would be loud enough to drown out any and all sounds.  

Settling on a station that was playing The Kinks’ “You Really Got Me,” I made myself comfortable once more and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly and glancing down at my raised knees and spread out thighs. My hands trembled as I worked up the courage to, as John put it, “be ready” for him.

I squirmed at the sensation my fingers created as they crept farther and farther down, closer and closer to the spot. Fear built up inside of me as I remembered how painful it was when John first did it. Granted, when he did it, I wasn’t expecting it. Yet somehow expecting it seemed worse, and my head shot back into my pillow, my eyes squeezing shut as I struggled to get on with it.

The simple act proved impossible, though, and so I dropped my knees back down to the mattress and let out an aggravated sigh.

 _Why was this so difficult?_ _What was missing? Besides John, of course…_

That’s when it hit me.

I ripped my hand out of my pants and shot upward, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and jumping to my feet. I burst out of the bedroom and into the room next to John’s and mine, not even bothering to turn the lights on as I rushed over to the dresser and began rifling through the flashy piles of neatly folded clothes in search of lube – something I _knew_ for a fact Freddie had. He’d even boasted about it once when Brian and I first met him, claiming he was “always prepared” for “whatever happens.”

“Come on, Fred,” I growled in frustration as I discovered nothing hidden under the shirts and pants, “Where’d you fucking put it?”

I slammed the dresser drawer shut and went on to the next one, and the next one, and the next one, all with no luck. I threw the last drawer in angrily and stepped back, running my fingers through my hair as I scanned the rest of the room that had been tidied up just like John’s and mine – except now the dresser appeared as though a tornado had run through it, with the clothes that had been carefully put away now tossed about recklessly. Some of them had even found their way to floor, but aside from them, there wasn’t a thing in sight.

“Goddammit,” I cursed under my breath as I stormed back to John’s and my room and shut the door with the same force I had closed the front door with, plopping back down on my bed and sitting on the edge with my head in my hands. I let out a long breath and dropped my hands in between my legs, staring at John’s bed across from mine.

This would all be so much easier if he was just here, at the flat, instead of in town with some twat he met at the show last night. _Talking about basses, my arse._ My leg shot out in anger and kicked his bed, pushing it further into the wall it was positioned against. I dropped backwards onto my mattress and heaved a sigh, turning my head and looking at the window that gave access to the ladder that led up to the roof.

I closed my eyes and pictured John and me last night on the university’s roof. I began to sink into that reminiscent feeling of us staring into each other’s eyes, exploring each other’s bodies, and going to places I never imagined going before, and once I was there, I slowly brought my hand up to my lips and inserted my fingers into my mouth, imagining they were John’s and coating them in my saliva. I plucked them out and looked down at myself once again, noticing the bulge that had returned from this morning. I gritted my teeth against one another as I stuck my lubricated hand into my pants once more, passing over the sensitive area and reaching further down.

I shifted my entire body to get a little more comfortable and rested my head back into the mattress, daring to slip one finger inside of me. I gasped at the feeling, trying my best to push through the discomfort and uneasiness I was bringing upon myself. I wanted to stop so badly, but I had to get to the pleasure. I knew it was there, I just had to push through to find it.

My body tensed up as I slid another finger inside, eventually finding and hitting that sweet spot I didn’t know existed prior to last night. A deep moan emanated from the back of my throat, the blaring music from the radio masking the loud “Oh, fuck!” that followed.

I was writhing in the ecstasy, the front of my shorts starting to stain as I picked up the speed at which I was moving my fingers in and out and around inside me. They weren’t my fingers, though; they were John’s. They didn’t feel as rough as his were, nor were they as long, but they were close enough.

Suddenly, it became difficult to breathe, with the room around me growing warmer and starting to blur. I knew the sensation that was washing over me all too well, but I’d never experienced it like this – alone, by myself. I didn’t even know I could do such a thing. Hell, it almost felt better than when I was with some—

My jaw dropped in a silent scream as I released the tension that had become too much to bear, my body relaxing back into the mattress it had arched up from as I finished. “Fuck,” I muttered as I lied there, drained of energy and thinking about what I had just done – another act that made it harder to recognize myself and the person I’d become.

The Roger Taylor everyone knew and loved would never be reduced to pleasuring himself. He always had a girl waiting in the wings to do it for him. He wouldn’t let himself be bossed around; he did what he wanted, when he wanted, and without anyone telling him what to do. This Roger Taylor, though, the one lying in this bed, he’d just done both of those things. And for what? A halfhearted promise of sex? Since when did Roger Taylor have to do anything to get laid?

“Fuck.” I dejectedly sat up and pulled my hand out of my pants, frowning at the sticky substance that webbed my fingers together. I groaned in disgust as I wiped my hand on the mattress, my eyes trailing to the peach on the nightstand. I stared at it for a while before snatching it up and digging my fingers into it, forcing the pit out and tossing it carelessly to the side. I brought the fruit to my lips and started to suck the insides out in an attempt to get rid of the awful taste that started growing in my mouth.

It didn’t work.

In fact, it only seemed to make the sick feeling that I was becoming increasingly aware of worse. I retched at the thought of taking another bite and set the half-eaten peach back down next to the radio, looking at the numbers displayed on the alarm clock behind it – 14:39. I heaved an annoyed sigh and lied back down on the mattress, curling up on my side and staring at John’s bed.

He didn’t say when he was coming back. All he said was to be ready for him, and now that I was, all I could do was wait for him.

*****

“Look at you,” a soft voice whispered in my ear, waking me up from the nap I had involuntarily taken while playing the waiting game. I drowsily glanced over my shoulder and saw the bassist I’d been dying to see all afternoon lying behind me, his body flush against mine and his fingers lazily trailing up and down my exposed side – my shirt ridden up in an awkward fit. The room around us was dark, and so I could only assume that the rest of the day had gone by. The radio had been turned off and silence seemed to fill the apartment.

He smirked and leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on my lips.

Instinctively, I kissed him back, turning my body around so I was facing him and cupping his face in my hands as I deepened the kiss. He followed my lead for a little bit before pulling back and looking at me with lustful eyes, the corner of his lips curled up into a smirk. “Seems you had yourself a pretty good time without me,” he commented in a teasing kind of manner, his gaze shifting downward.

I looked down as well, noticing the large stain on my unbuttoned and unzippered pants. An embarrassed blush crept up in my cheeks as I opened my mouth to explain, but before I could, he chuckled and asked, “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” I answered tersely, starting to fidget with my pants as I tried to fasten them.

“No, don’t do that,” John objected softly, gently pushing my hand away and smiling up at me. I stared at him with a confused expression on my face, watching as he moved further down on my bed – his face only inches away from the area that began to ache like it did earlier today.

I sat up on my elbows while his fingers danced across the waistband of my pants, a seductive look in his eyes that traveled up my torso to meet mine. “You didn’t do anything, huh?” An embarrassed blush crept up in my cheeks as he returned his attention downward, the tip of his tongue grazing his slightly parted lips before he pulled my pants down from my waist. My breathing hitched as he yanked the garment over my ankles, staring at me with starry eyes.

“Aww, Roger,” he murmured with pouted lips, “You’re so red.”

I bit back the snarky comment that immediately popped into my mind, opting instead to fall back on the mattress and cover my face in shame. I felt like a fool in front of him, and not just in this instance, but every time he was around; every time we were alone. I didn’t know what it was that his presence did to me, but whenever I was with him, I became vulnerable, weak, powerless even. It was a horrible feeling, one I somehow couldn’t get enough of and was ashamed to admit I put up with.

The bed creaked beneath me as John crawled between my legs, holding himself over me and planting kisses on the back of my hands – one on each. I parted my fingers and peered through the cracks to see him with a wide grin stretched across his face.

“I’m sick, aren’t I?” I mumbled, my voice muffled by my palms.

“I wish everyone was as sick as you, Roger,” he growled, his attention being drawn over the side of the bed. I lowered my hands and turned my head, leaning over the edge ever so slightly to notice the notebook that was still there – my lyrics proudly displayed on the lined paper. “What’s this?” he questioned, picking up the notebook and holding it out in front of him.

My hand instantly shot out to grab the notebook, but John pulled away, towering over me with his knees on both my sides while he read the words on the page, smiling more and more with each line he glossed over.

“Who do you want to be a woman, Rog?” he asked, peering over the notebook at me. His question reminded me of Freddie’s the morning he found it.

“Don’t,” I murmured.

“Who’s ‘don’t’?” the bassist joked tauntingly.

“John, please,” I begged, going for the notebook again, only to have John leap off the bed and cross the small room, standing as far away from me as he could against the wall on his side. I sat up and snatched my pants from the ground, slipping into them as I stood up and walked over to him, trying once again to take possession of the work in progress. He wouldn’t give it up, though, holding the notebook tightly to his chest and protecting it like it was his own.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I muttered, my voice cracking.

John refused to give me a verbal response, offering only his provocative stare that seemed to intensify as that damn smile of his grew. I hated it, but what I hated more was how I couldn’t hate it. I loved it; it drove me absolutely mad.

The raging conflict inside of me made me shove John back into the wall he was already leaning against, which in turn caused him to drop the notebook and fight back. There weren’t any punches thrown and no blood was shed, but it got to the point where we’d switched positions, with me pinned down to his bed and him hovering over me.

“What are you doing?” I croaked out as I struggled to free myself from his tightening grasp, his fingers digging into my shoulders and his weight pushing me down deeper into the mattress.

“Stop,” he told me, his voice hitting my ears in a low growl that barely sounded like him.

“You’re hurting me!” I shouted under my breath, tears wavering in my eyes.

“Then don’t fight,” he suggested with a sadistic smirk.

I continued to push against him, refusing to take his plea deal and attempting to get him off of me on my own accord. He wouldn’t budge, though I did eventually find a way to sit up, taking the opportunity to bury my head into his chest and let the tears that had been building in my eyes roll down my cheeks. Silent, near inaudible sobs began to rack my body as I clung onto the bassist whose arms hesitantly wrapped around my back and pulled me close to him.

It was exhausting playing this game with him. I was tired of trying to figure out how I felt and why I felt that way. It was draining trying to justify my feelings, and even more when I had to mask them. It was exasperating keeping everything inside, and I didn’t know how to do it anymore. I didn’t think I could. It was too much.

“Hey,” John murmured, the uncharacteristically unforgiving and unrelenting demeanor he'd taken on disappearing and being replaced with a more fittingly concerned and remorseful one as he realized he’d taken things too far. He ran his fingers through my hair and drew me even closer. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, pressing his lips against the side of my head, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…I just…Roger, it’s okay.”

_It wasn’t okay. It hasn’t been okay this entire time._

He pulled back and tried to connect our lips, repeating himself over and over again as he continued to shower me with affection in hopes of finding the right spot that would get the reaction he desired, “It’s okay…It’s going to be okay…”


	18. Chapter 18

Neither John or I got much sleep that night. Instead, we’d retreated to the rooftop where the two of us sat in silence until the sun rose up from behind the horizon. It was John’s idea, and I was hesitant to follow him up there, but he somehow convinced me to join him.

Since there was only the one lawn chair up there, the two of us sat beside each other on the ground, leaned against one of the wide chimney stacks with John’s arm wrapped around my back and my head resting on his shoulder. We didn’t dare glance over at the other person, choosing instead to keep our gazes locked forward – on our feet extended out in front of us, up at the night sky that was twinkling the brightest it had all summer, out into the city that glowed in the distance...

“I’ve never had anyone write a song about me before,” John blurted out, breaking the silent streak we had, “I think I’m quite flattered.”

My lips didn’t move as I twiddled my thumbs in my lap, waiting for the moment to pass. I didn’t want to talk about the song; I didn’t want to talk about us. I just wanted to sit up on the roof, enjoying each other’s company in silence. Sure, there was still a lot to talk about, but I just wanted to forget about it all for a little bit. At least for the night.

“You know, this scares me too,” the bassist continued, trying to get a response out of me as his hand began to move up and down my side in a nervous yet soothing way, “It’s scared me since that day at the beach. I knew in that exact moment that this…whatever we want to call it…I knew it wasn’t going to be easy.”

It was difficult not meeting his gaze to find out what he meant by that, but with how defeated I felt, I let curiosity get the best of me and brought my eyes up to his. However, his gaze was still focused on the illuminated buildings kilometers away from us.

“It’s just…with the other two…” His words manifested themselves in brief, choppy phrases as he attempted to carefully express his feelings. He brought his free hand up to his face and covered his eyes, holding it there for a second or two before dragging his fingers down and dropping his hand into his lap, his somber eyes shifting over to me. “If this gets out, Rog, it’s not just us who’ll face the consequences, you know?”

“Why do there have to be consequences in the first place?” I finally spoke up, an innocence to my quiet question.

John only smiled sadly at me and pressed a kiss against my forehead, refraining from giving me a verbal answer. I closed my eyes and buried my face into his shoulder once again, wanting to return to the moment where neither of us were saying anything to one another. The bassist must’ve wanted the same thing, because another word wasn’t said the rest of the night.

I didn’t remember doing so, but I dozed off after a while. I only knew because, at one point, I was shaken awake by John, followed by a soft, “Hey, we should probably go back inside. I’m sure Brian and Freddie are wondering where we’ve been.”

“No, I don’t want to,” I whined, trying to fall back asleep but unsuccessfully doing so as John pulled away from my side and stood up. My mouth turned into a pout as I watched him cross his arms and give me that look that said, _Come on, Rog_. “I’m not moving,” I declared pettily, mirroring his stance from the ground.

“Fine,” he responded cheekily, “Stay up here for all I care.” He made a sassy turn on his heel and strutted off towards the ladder leading down to our bedroom. I pivoted my torso so that I could see him around the block he and I were previously sitting up against, seeing him disappear over the edge.

I frowned at his departure, missing his comforting presence almost instantly. I gave my attention back to my feet, letting out a yawn and stretching my arms up in the air. My back cracked as my body elongated and elicited a slight gasp out of me, my arms falling back down into my lap.

I grunted as I picked myself up from the ground and dragged myself back inside and out of John’s and my bedroom. Down the hall, I could see everyone sitting at the dining table – surprisingly with breakfast. My stomach immediately growled, enticed by the aromatic smell wafting through the apartment.

Brian was the first to notice my presence, a small grin appearing on his face while he took a sip of tea. Freddie was next, and his reaction wasn’t as pleasant. Instead of smiling at me or greeting me in his typical cheerful or flamboyant manner, his eyebrows crinkled together, and his eyes narrowed. “What happened to you?” he sneered, “You look like absolute shit.”

“And you look as fabulous as ever, Mr. Bulsara,” I replied, flashing him a sarcastic grin before taking the seat across from him. I didn’t know how it was possible, but his eyes narrowed even more as he stabbed his fork down into mess of scrambled eggs on his plate.

I rolled my eyes and turned my head, spotting John at the counter, his back to all of us while he waited for the toaster to release what I could only assume was his toast. They must’ve gone shopping yesterday, because we certainly didn’t have this selection yesterday when I was looking for something to eat. I shifted my gaze back over to Fred and his sustained glare, watching in unhindered disgust as he angrily shoved a forkful of food into his mouth. “Who fucked you the wrong way last night?” I jeered.

“Hey,” Brian interjected before the singer could even register what I’d said to him, sticking his pinky finger out at me, “Be nice.”

I scoffed, throwing my hand across the table. “He’s the one who—”

“I said _be nice_.”

A blanket of silence fell over us as Freddie and I bit our tongues. I didn’t know why I held such a grudge against the singer, seeing as almost every encounter we had seemed to consist of unrelenting badgering and bickering.

I considered that it was possibly because I envied the guy and his lack of fear to be who he was and to like who he liked, regardless of what anyone else thought of him. Nothing could stop him. He was going to get what he wanted no matter what because he had a sense of purpose; he knew that this was what he was born to do – this band, making music, having his voice heard. Me? I had no idea what I was doing anymore, or what I was supposed to be doing, and it felt like Freddie was using that to his advantage, making a mockery of any attempt I’ve made to find my place. It was absolutely maddening.

The sound of the toaster popping John’s toast up severed the tension that filled the air and brought all our eyes to him. He grabbed the two pieces of bread and put them on his plate, laying two slices of cheese over them and licking his fingers to get rid of the crumbs. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, a whole new aroused train of thought beginning to derail my current one. It was only when he picked up his plate to join us and Freddie grumbled, “You owe me a new vest,” under his breath that the first train of thought got back on track.

I chuckled, folding my arms over my chest. “You’re _still_ hung up on that?”

“Yes!” he cried while John took a bite into his sad breakfast. I still couldn’t wrap my head around how he could eat such a thing, especially first thing in the morning.

“Don’t even bother, Rog,” Brian cut in once again, setting his tea cup down on its saucer and sighing, “He was up all night at his sewing machine fixing it. It’s fine.”

“I still want him to buy me a new one,” the singer declared, “It’s only fair for him _defiling_ the poor thing.”

I heard John chuckle under his breath, but his input went unnoticed by the other two. I, on the other hand, heard it loud and clear, and the corner of my lip perked up into a smirk. The truth about the vest was still a mystery to the other half of the band, and so long as John or I didn’t tell either of them what truly happened, our secret was safe. I kind of liked having a secret, just the two of us. It wasn’t often that things remained untold among the four of us, so it made it special.

“Oh, lay off, Fred,” the guitarist groaned, “You’re making it seem like he tore the thing in half.”

“He might as well have!”

“Freddie…”

In a desperate attempt to change the subject, John cleared his throat and muttered, “Uh, so I have some exciting news to share.”

“I’m sorry, John, but unless it’s that you’ve convinced Roger to apologize for destroying my favorite vest, I don’t want to hear it,” Freddie replied bitterly, keeping his cold, hardened stared locked on me as he crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows at me in anticipation.

I scoffed. “I did not _destroy_ your vest, Fred. A few buttons got pulled off, so what? It’s not like that one time you sold my jacket without my permission. And I don’t recall you ever apologizing to me for that, so why should I have to apologize for this?”

Freddie huffed in disbelief, dramatically bringing his hand up to his chest and responding, “Because, you bitch, that was _my_ jacket that _you_ sold!”

Brian heaved a frustrated sigh as Freddie and I went off into a heated argument, saying to the man across from him, “Just ignore them, John. You can tell me your exciting news!”

The bassist’s cheeks reddened as he picked at the crust of his toast, trying to gain the courage to spit out what he had to say. He didn’t get the chance to, though, because before he could speak, Freddie began assaulting me with his breakfast.

“Hey!” I exclaimed angrily, using my arms as a shield as Freddie pelted me with whatever he had on his plate, throwing handful after handful until the plate was wiped cleaned. He grabbed the plate, ready to throw that next, when Brian’s hand shot out and wrapped tightly around the singer’s wrist, freezing him in place.

“John is trying to tell us something,” the guitarist growled through his clenched teeth, his tolerance for our childish antics worn extremely thin, “Would you like it if one of us began throwing our food across the table while you were trying to tell us something?”

“If it was Roger—”

“No, Fred,” Brian interrupted him, snatching the plate out of the singer’s grasp and setting it as far away from him as he could, “You wouldn’t like it. Now sit still, keep your mouth shut, and listen to what John has to say."

I opened my mouth to say something when Brian caught me out of the corner of his eye and stuck an accusatory finger in my direction, rattling off, “Same goes for you,” before I could speak up. I slumped back in my seat in defeat and crossed my arms, turning my head to the side. Brian shook his head in disappointment and returned his attention to the bassist, saying in a much kinder tone, “Go on, John, _now that everyone’s listening_ …” His wide eyes scanned the table, shifting between Freddie and me to make sure we wouldn’t act out again.

John swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Um, well, I…you know how I met up with that person yesterday?”

 _How could I forget?_ I wanted to say but refrained from doing so.

“Yes, I do remember that,” Brian replied for me, picking up his colder tea and taking a sip from it. I knew it was cold because of the repulsed expression that briefly appeared on his face before he set the tea back down. Of course, he wouldn’t say anything about it, opting instead to say, “Who was it again that you met up with? Someone you met at the show?”

“Yeah, erm…it was actually...Tim,” he revealed timidly.

“ _Tim_?” I couldn’t help but ask, a furious resentment lacing the name as it rolled off my tongue.

“Tim,” Brian repeated, his tone more shocked than angry.

John nodded his head, his reddened cheeks deepening in color. “He wanted to tell me how he thought I did a great job at the show…and that he wanted me to…” His voice trailed off at the end of his sentence, the words becoming mumbled and indecipherable.

“What was that?” the guitarist asked.

“Yeah, even _I_ couldn’t hear that, darling,” Freddie chimed in, “And we all know how loud you can be. I mean, just last night—” Brian smacked him harshly on the arm. “Ouch! What was that for?”

“I think you know full well what that was for, Fred,” Brian sneered.

The singer rolled his eyes, annoyed he couldn’t finish his thought without receiving a worse punishment than a smack on the arm – metaphorically, that is. Brian couldn’t bring himself to do anything more; it just wasn’t his thing, but there was no denying that we were pushing him to his limits as of late.

We all had been pushed to our limits, and it showed. Each day was worse than the last, and at the rate we were going, we were never going to get the album finished. It wasn’t all about the album, though; it was about getting back to the way things were when a deadline wasn’t always looming over our heads. It was sad to think about, but I even kind of wanted to go back to school. It wasn’t nearly as stressful as this album was, and I didn’t see John there every day. Hell, I wouldn’t have even met the guy if it wasn’t for this.

“So, John, what was it that Tim wanted you to do?” Brian inquired, snapping me out of the daze I’d fallen into and making the bassist blush even harder than he already was.

He once again cleared his throat, tilting his head down and letting out a long sigh.

We all stared at him with wide eyes, leaning in closer as we waited for him to answer the question that was on all our minds.

He met our gazes one by one, his nerves building and his throat closing in.

“Well?” Freddie blurted out.

“What is it?” I tacked on.

John dropped his gaze once more, unable to look at any of us as he finally spit out, “He wants me to play bass for him and his band.”


	19. Chapter 19

“I hope you’re joking,” I responded incredulously.

“John, what about our album?” Brian added.

“Yeah, and who else is going to fit into my v-neck blouse?” Freddie cried.

“Guys, I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” the bassist tried to calm our rising nerves, “It’s just a test period…a trial! All he wants is to see if I’m a good fit or not.”

 _No,_ I thought as his words settled in the silent air, _No, no, no, no! This cannot be happening again; this seriously cannot be happening_ again _._ My eyes widened as another thought crossed my mind. _Oh my god, Brian was right. He was fucking right.  
_

Brian chuckled in disbelief and shook his head, crossing his arms. “A good fit? John, you’re a good fit here! With us! You can’t seriously be considering ditching us for another band right now.”

“I need a cigarette,” I dejectedly mumbled, getting up from the table and scouring through the kitchen drawers for a pack. I needed to stop myself before I let myself get too far. I could feel it happening, and I couldn’t afford another outburst. It’d only push John farther away.

The bassist sighed as Brian and Freddie started going off on him, averting his gaze over to me. However, I kept my back to him, my hands starting to shake as I yanked open drawer after drawer without finding any cigarettes. He stood up and walked over to me, wrapping his hand around my wrist in an attempt to soothe my visible anxiety. I instinctively shook it off, though, tearing my arm away from him and meeting his gaze with eyes full of hurt.

“It’s going to be okay,” John whispered to me, repeating the same five words he told me just hours prior to this and ignoring the singer and guitarist’s continued remarks as he gave me his full attention.

I shook my head in disagreement and returned my attention to the drawers, rechecking the ones I’d already looked in and muttering, “Shut up.”

“I mean it,” he tried to convince me, dropping his hand on my shoulder and giving it a slight squeeze that I imagined he hoped would come off as reassuring. However, reassured was the last thing I was.

“I said shut up,” I retorted harshly.

“Roger…”

"I said shut up!” I snapped, slamming the drawer shut and going to leave the room to look elsewhere for a smoke – knowing that there _had_ to be a pack somewhere in the flat – when John’s hand shot out and stopped me. “LET GO OF ME!” I shouted, the scene I was making going unnoticed by the singer and guitarist who’d continued their conversation about John amongst themselves.

“Roger, please,” the bassist pled softly, keeping his hand wrapped around my upper arm and his desperate eyes locked on mine.

“Get your hands off of me,” I growled, trying to pull myself out of his tight, unrelenting grip which he only made tighter in response, wanting me to understand the situation – that he wasn’t leaving me; that he wasn’t going anywhere. I wasn’t a fool, though. I’d seen this happen before and I knew it was happening again. Nothing he could say would change that.

“John? John!” Brian exclaimed, wanting the bassist’s attention back after his and Freddie’s rant had come to a standstill.

“WHAT? WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT FROM ME!?!” he screamed, silencing the three of us almost instantly. His gaze flickered among us, darting from Brian to Freddie to me and then to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. He wasn’t the only uncomfortable one in the situation. Typically, John was never the one to get heated in moments like this. In fact, he was usually never involved. He avoided our arguments like they were the plague, keeping quiet and finding other things to do until the storm passed, so his outburst was a shock to all of us.

The guitarist let out a long breath and sat forward, clasping his hands together on top of the table and answering calmly, “I want you to tell me exactly what Tim said to you. That’s all.”

“All he said was that he and his band are doing a short circuit around Britain and he wants me to play with them,” John explained softly, keeping his head down to hide the redness in his face that had grown an even deeper shade, “It’s just for a week. I-I thought you guys wouldn’t mind since all my parts for the album are already done and recorded…”

Brian met my gaze, his eyes saying everything his lips weren’t. He knew exactly what I was thinking; exactly what I was afraid of. It felt like history was repeating itself, and I wasn’t so sure I’d be able to handle it again this soon. It took me ages to get over Tim abandoning us, and I didn't believe I ever would until I met John. And here he was, doing the exact same thing Tim did. Who knew how long it would take for the wound to heal this time?

The guitarist returned his attention to the bassist and said, “You know, John, you’re right. You shouldn’t waste this opportunity. It’ll be good for you.”

He lit up at the surprising response. “Really?” Brian nodded his head, a small grin accompanying the gesture. “Th-Thanks, man. I-I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. But, I think you should consider also taking Roger with you.”

“What?” John and I responded in unison, both just as confused as the other about Brian’s suggestion.

“Why?” Freddie joined in, giving the man sitting adjacent to him a strange look.

Brian threw his hand in my direction, asking, “Don’t you think it’s about time Roger and Tim made amends with one another? I mean, what better occasion than this week away?”

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea, Bri,” I objected coldly, the thought of spending a whole week with Tim near unbearable. All I wanted to do was strangle the guy, not only for leaving us, but for trying to take John away now too.

“Yeah, and blondie over here still doesn’t know his fucking entrances,” the singer growled, glaring at me. I stuck my tongue out at him.

“He can work on those when he gets back,” the guitarist offered, waving a dismissive hand at him, “But I really do think this week away will do them both some good. Roger can make up with Tim and John can see whether likes playing with them better or not. Besides, then you and I can work out the rest of the songs. I really think this opportunity for John will be good for all of us.”

I stared at Brian with furrowed brows, trying to figure out what he was getting at. Something didn’t seem right to me – like there was more to his suggestion than he was leading on.

“Are you on something?” Freddie interrogated him, pounding a fist down into the table, “We are _behind schedule_ , darling. We have weeks before the label’s expecting us to have our finished product! We can’t afford anyone taking a week off to go fuck off with—”

“Ring Tim up,” the curly-haired man addressed John, cutting the singer short and nodding towards the phone hanging on the wall. We barely used the ancient thing, calls rarely coming through or going out. We’ve settled on it serving more of a decorative purpose, something to look at and complain about when there was nothing better to do, and I’d much rather argue over that than this any day.

“Let him know you’re going and bringing a friend along,” he added, his eyes trailing over to me and a smirk appearing on his face.

***** 

“Hey,” I muttered, pulling Brian out of the focused state he was in with his guitar strapped around his shoulders and a notebook on his knee. We were the only two left in the apartment after this morning’s unexpected feud. John was off, meeting up with Tim again after having decided that he wanted to discuss the opportunity he'd been given in person. As for Freddie, he had left to find himself another vest…with my wallet. I tried to object, but he said it was the only way he was going to forgive me and that, if I was smart and remembered we had an album to finish, I wouldn’t argue him on it. So, I didn’t.

“What is it, Rog?” the guitarist inquired, a genuine sincerity to his response, accompanied only by a fractional amount of irritation.

I dared to take the seat beside him and bit my lip, glancing down at the notebook I’d brought in with me and staring at the words I’d added. “Why is it that you want me to go with John on Tim’s tour so badly?”

He shrugged. “Like I said, it’s about time—”

“Bullocks,” I cut him short, looking over at him to see that he’d started writing an idea down, avoiding my gaze, “I want a real answer, Brian. You know I’m not stupid.” I leaned in and – even though it was only the two of us – whispered, “I know you know about John and me.”

He sighed and set his pencil down, his hazel eyes finally meeting mine. “And I thought it’d be nice for you two to get away for a little bit. Is that so wrong, Roger?” I widened my eyes, raised my eyebrows, and shook my head once as if to say _Uh, yeah , _to which Brian rolled his eyes and set his notebook down on the coffee table, and his guitar to the side. “Look, I just…ever since John’s been around, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you happier, and that’s all I want for you, Rog – to be happy.”

An incredulous chuckle slipped past my lips as I turned my head to the side. “Really? Because the only thing I’ve felt ever since he’s come around is confused and angry, and…and I don’t even know if he likes me back.”

“Oh, he does,” the guitarist assured me rather quickly, standing up and wandering off to the bedroom hallway, “He likes you very much.”

I scoffed and followed after him, skeptically inquiring, “And how do you suppose that?”

He stopped in the middle of the hallway and replied with his back to me, “Because he told me.”

Those four words were almost enough to make my heart stop beating. The revelation that he had talked to Brian about me and that he revealed that he liked me shocked me so much that all I could get out was a timid yet curious, “When?”

The guitarist heaved a heavy sigh and spun around to face me. “A while ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” I snapped at him.

Brian folded his arms over his chest and frowned at me like I was a misbehaving child, even going on to say in a very authoritative way, “You’re not listening to me, Rog.”

“Well from what you just told me, it sounds like you’ve been trying to double-cross me from the start!” I exclaimed, waving my hand at him angrily, “Telling me to be careful when you’ve known all along that he likes me…why would you do that? I thought we were friends.”

“We _are_ friends, Rog, I’m just—” He smacked his forehead in frustration and muttered under his breath, “I worry, alright? But you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Just…try and enjoy yourself while you’re with him, because I’m going to be honest with you – you might not get another chance.”


	20. Chapter 20

It was settled – John was to join Humpy Bong for their short, weeklong tour and I was to tag along. I couldn’t tell from John’s vague description of the conversation how Tim felt about me coming, but I was nervous. We hadn’t talked since the night of the concert, and things weren’t left on a particularly good note that night.

Nevertheless, the day had come for John and me to leave with the band I’d despised since the moment they stole Tim, giving him the empty promise that they were “going places.” I had doubts that they’d kept their word, because I hadn’t heard about any releases or radio singles from them. There had been no shows either, up until this point that is. I wondered how many people would be in their audiences, and how many of those people actually gave a damn about them. It was rough trying to make a name for yourself in the music business, and in my opinion, a name like _Humpy Bong_ wasn’t very memorable…other than for its sheer absurdity. 

Bags had been packed, and Freddie and Brian were sending us off like they were our parents and we were their children, off to attend university. The guitarist wore a wide grin on his face, and even though Freddie was still upset with me for the whole vest situation, a small smile could be found on his face too.

“Are you sure you’ve got everything?” Brian inquired concernedly, “I know it’s only a week, but—”

“I think we’re good, Bri,” John assured him, nodding his head for extra measure, “Thanks, though.”

“You guys ready to hit the road?” Tim interjected, emerging from the van he and his other band members were crammed into. Even with the extra space they had – their instruments and equipment contained in a trailer they’d borrowed and attached to the back of their vehicle – it still seemed like there wasn’t going to be enough room for John and me.

“Almost. We’re just saying our goodbyes,” the bassist answered him, “We’ll be in in just a second.” The two bassists shared a small grin before Tim returned to the van, making my eyes roll. Brian took note of this – as he always did – and raised his eyebrows at me as if to say, _Stop it, Rog. You have to be nice._ I wanted to tell him that I didn’t have to be anything, but he was right.

This week, I needed to make the most of my time with John, and the only way that was going to happen was if I didn’t cause any trouble. I intended to spend as much time with him as possible, doing as much as I could to make him decide to stay with Brian, Freddie, and me – especially me. I couldn’t lose him like I’d lost the others; I just couldn’t.

“Come back soon,” Freddie blurted out, an annoyed undertone to his phrase as he tried to keep his stubborn act up, “We still have that album to finish, you know.”

“Well I’m sure you and Brian will get that all squared away while we’re gone, won’t you, darling?” I retorted in a snarky manner, crossing my arms and flashing him a tight-lipped grin.

“Go,” Brian suggested as sternly as he could manage, seeing the impending fallout well before it happened and pointing his finger at the van.

I stuck my tongue out at him while John waved them farewell, intertwining his fingers with mine and taking me with him as he walked over to the opened van that had been waiting for us. I took one last look at the singer and guitarist and gave them a small wave too, mouthing the words _Thank you_ to the latter before I was tugged inside the vehicle with John, the door sliding shut behind us.

“Let’s get this show on the road!” Tim exclaimed, revving the engine as if the van were a racecar and his other bandmates cheering loudly in response. I couldn’t help the repulsed expression that appeared on my face as we sped off, heading towards the first stop on the trip that was practically on the other side of the country. John – whose body was involuntarily pressed against mine – quickly noticed and grabbed my hand for the second time that day, giving it a slight, reassuring squeeze.

“Aren’t you excited?” he asked, his voice much quieter than those around him who had branched off in their own conversations but still loud enough for me to hear. After all, he _was_ right beside me.

I glanced around at our company and tried my best to stay positive, but I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be easy. I couldn’t simply ignore the fact that these people were the ones to rip Tim away from me, to create a riff in our friendship that seemed forever unamendable. I knew Brian wanted me to try to move past that – at least, that’s what his public reason for encouraging me to go was – but it just seemed impossible. Because not only had they taken Tim, but they were trying to take John too, and if that were to happen, I’d never be able to forgive them.

Ever.

This trip wasn’t about them, though. It was about John and me, and so for that reason – and that reason alone – I was excited, and that’s what I told him. The bassist smiled and squeezed my hand even tighter, turning his head to the side to look at the passing scenery.

***** 

I stood in the empty bar, hovering around the stage as Humpy Bong – sans John – hung around the bar, laughing and getting their pre-show drinks on. The band had booked a show for the same day we departed from London, and from the looks of it, they weren’t prepared. John had taken a seat at one of the booths near the windows with his bass in his lap and his fingers plucking the strings, a dull sound coming from the instrument as he went over his parts.

I wandered up onto the stage and sat down at the drum kit, looking at the setup and glancing over each cymbal and each drum before my eyes landed on a pair of sticks sitting on the floor. The corner of my lip perked up, and I reached down to grab them when a hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist. My eyes trailed up the arm the hand was attached to and landed on Tim who was standing over me, a beer in his free hand and a sardonic smirk slathered across his drunken face.

“What do you think you’re doing, blondie?” he sneered.

I ripped my arm out of his grip and narrowed my eyes. “Fuck off, Tim. I’m just trying to have some fun while I’m being dragged around on your dumb tour.”

“You know, you didn’t have to come,” my mortal enemy – aside from Paul – growled, “You’re only here because the only way John was going to agree to this was if I let you tag along. I mean, I _really_ didn’t want your arse here, but he’s good, and he can go way farther with us than he can with your…your stupid ‘Queen’ band.” He raised his hands and bent his fingers back and forth, as if the band he used to be a part of wasn’t legitimate. “What kind of gay name is that even?”

My eyebrows furrowed together in anger, and I stood up from the stool I was perched on – ready to go off on him – when John approached and asked, “Is everything okay over here?”

“’Course, man,” Tim answered him, slinging an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close to him, digging the hand he had wrapped around his cold stein into my arm that was closest to him and explaining, “We were just catching up.” I glared over at him as he smiled down at me. “Isn’t that right, Rog?”

I shoved him away from me and jumped down from the stage, walking right out of the joint without saying another word to either of them. I didn’t get very far before I found myself pacing back and forth, torn between storming back in there or storming off for good. The only thing keeping me from finding a payphone and calling Brian to come and get me was John. I wanted to spend time with him, I wanted to have this week with him, but Tim was making it so goddamn hard. And it was only the first day!

I didn’t have the chance to make any kind of decision before the bar door burst open and out came John, stopping me mid-pace and turning me around to face him. “What was that?” he yelled at me.

“He started it!” I cried, motioning to the bar’s entrance.

The bassist brought a hand up to his forehead and sighed in defeat, muttering, “Is this how this whole week is going to be?” He glanced back up at me and shook his head. “Because if it is, Roger, I don’t know if I can do it.”

I scoffed. “You shouldn’t! You shouldn’t be here, John. _We_ shouldn’t be here. We’ve got an album to record and release, and instead we’re here! With Tim and…and fucking Humpy Bong!”

John placed his hands on his hips and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just a week, Roger, and Brian and Freddie told us they’ve got it under control. So, I don’t see why you’re so upset about this.”

“Because they’re trying to take you from me!” I screamed, an awkward silence passing over the two of us as I dropped my head and tried to correct and ultimately save myself with a quiet, “From us. They’re taking you away from _us_.”

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, shortening the distance between him and me and taking my hands in his. “Look, Roger,” he started, keeping his gaze down on our entangled hands, “I don’t know what’s going to happen at the end of this week, but even if I do decide—”

“That you’re going to stay with Queen,” I finished his sentence for him with utmost seriousness.

John’s eyes rolled up to meet mine, full of remorse, before he attempted to pick up where he left off, saying, “Even if I do decide to go with Humpy Bong—"

“Which you won’t.”

He scoffed and relinquished hold of my hands, letting them to drop back to my sides. “Roger, would you let me finish one sentence? Please?” I crossed my arms over my chest and tilted my head to the side, pressing my lips tightly together and clenching my jaw to keep quiet. He sighed and ran a hand through his frizzy hair. “You’re making it seem like after this tour is over, we’re never going to see each other again; like it’s the end or something. But it’s not.”

“Well it sure seems like it,” I muttered, pouting my lips out.

John’s expression softened at my confession, bringing him closer to me and enwrapping me in a warm embrace I felt torn over. Part of me wanted to hug him back and never let go, whereas the other part wanted to push him away and tell him to fuck off, but instead I just stood there as he squeezed me tight.

When he realized that his efforts weren’t being reciprocated, he stepped back and tried another approach, cupping my cheeks in his hands and pleading with me, “Let’s just make the most out of this week, alright, Rog? We’re finally away from the flat, from the studio, from Brian and Freddie…” His voice trailed off and the corner of his lip perked up into a smirk, his fingers tickling my skin as he tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. “There’s nothing and no one to stop us.”

“Hey,” a third voice – perfect to prove the point I so desperately wanted to convey but was robbed of the chance to do so – joined the conversation, separating John and me and turning our attention to the bar entrance where Colin, the band’s drummer, was leaned against the threshold. “We’re ‘bout to do a quick run through the set. Mind coming in for a bit, John?”

He nodded his head, assuring the drummer he’d be right in with the feigning of a grin that sent the man with a bowl-shaped haircut on his way. I uncomfortably rubbed behind my neck as John looked back at me, biting his lip.

“Go on,” I mumbled, playfully annoyed, and nodded towards the door, “Show ‘em what you’ve got.”

The goofy grin that appeared on his face instantly melted every bad feeling that was boiling up inside of me, and the kiss he planted on my lips finished the job. As soon as he disappeared behind that door, though, the nagging thought he wanted me to ignore returned without a hint of remorse. I only had seven days to keep seeing that damn smile every day, and to keep those soft lips on mine; seven days to show John that he’d already found his fit, with us, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it.

I had to, though.

I just had to.


	21. Chapter 21

As supportive as I tried to be, there weren’t enough drinks or drugs at the bar to make Humpy Bong’s performance come off as anything other than absolute shit. Their vocals were depressing, their drumbeat lagged, and their guitarist didn’t hold a candle to Brian. It was quite pathetic, and I wasn’t alone in that feeling. I could tell by the boos that filled the air and the drinks that were thrown their way, conveying the message the band didn’t seem to understand as they continued on with their set.

Sitting at the bar and calling the bartender over every time my drink reached the bottom of the glass, I watched from a distance the embarrassment that slowly washed over John, the bassist trying his best to hold up the rest of the band as they drunkenly powered through their songs. I felt bad for the guy but refrained from adding to the impending chaos with an endless, distracting stream of alcohol and cigarettes.

The music died down at one point, and the only reason I noticed was because of the hand that fell down on my shoulder, attracting my glazed-over eyes to the man standing behind me. A lazy grin appeared on my face as I turned around on the stool I was perched on, resting my elbow on the bar and my head in my hand. “Johnnnaayyy,” I slurred, “Deaaakkkyyy. The Deakster. The one and only Jonathan, my man, what’s gooooood?”

“First of all, my name isn’t short for Jonathan and you know that, but good guess,” he replied with a chuckle, giving my shoulder a squeeze and saying, “Secondly, how many drinks have you had?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I answered honestly, looking down at my hands that were harder to focus on than usual, “I think I stopped counting after they stopped fitting.”

“Of course you did, Roger,” John sighed as I slowly began to flip my hands over and back, wondering why they didn’t feel like my own. He wrapped his own hands around them – stopping my train of thought from derailing – and brought them up to his lips, planting a soft kiss on my knuckles and mumbling, “Let’s get you outta here, yeah? I’m feeling a bit tired, and you look like you are too.”

I shook my head in misunderstanding. “The fuck’re you going on about? We—”

“Hey, is this guy bothering you?” a big, tall stranger with a very deep voice interjected, placing a protecting hand on my shoulder and glaring at John with narrowed eyes.

“Yeah, he bothers me all the fucking time,” I mumbled, looking up at the guy and pouting my lips out dramatically. “I can’t get away from him.”

The stranger huffed and walked around me, stepping up to John and defensively crossing his huge arms over his puffed-out chest. “Is that so?” he snarled, allowing for no space between him and the bassist.

“W-Whoa there,” John stammered nervously, putting his hands up in surrender, “We’re friends. We know each other. We’re not—”

“I don’t care what you think you two are or aren’t. If the pretty lady wants you to leave her alone, you best leave her alone, understood?” the tall man growled, towering over John who’d stumbled back into the bar, clutching onto it for his dear life and surprisingly not pissing himself.

My eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, the stranger’s words finally sinking in. “Wait, did you just call me a pretty lady?” I met his angry gaze that softened when he looked down at me, a giggle slipping past my lips as I revealed, “Oh wow. Well, I hate it to break it to you, dude, but I have a dick. A good one too, you wanna see? I can show you.”

“No!” John cried as I began to mess with the button of my pants, slipping himself between me and the stranger to protect me from the punch that was undoubtedly coming my way. “No, no, no, no, no. You’re not going to do anything of the sort.” He looked back at me with wide eyes that screamed at me to stop before I made things worse. I tilted my head down in avoidance of his cautionary gaze, a blush creeping up in my cheeks as I twiddled my thumbs in my lap.

“What are you two, then?” he practically yelled at us, clearly upset by the reality of the situation, “A bunch of fags? Fairies? Pufters?”

I scoffed and glanced up at the terrifying stranger whose eyes ignited in a fiery rage as I stood up and exclaimed proudly, “Yeah, we are! You gotta problem with—”

John smacked his hand over my mouth, muffling the rest of my question and telling the stranger with an anxious laugh, “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s had one too many drinks, and we’re terribly sorry for the trouble. We’ll get out of your hair, and…and your next drink’s on me! Promise!” And with that, the bassist dragged me away from the bar – straight out the door.

We didn’t stop until we were a good few blocks away from the overcrowded establishment, John pulling the two of us into one of the alleyways cast in shadows and pushing me into one of the walls. He kept his hands on my shoulders, holding me in place, and dropped his head, panting. I couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped my lips and brought his tired eyes up to mine which could barely stay open. “What’s so funny?” he asked me.

I stifled the giggles that wanted to persist just long enough to answer, “He…He thought I was a girl, John.” After I got his name out, though, I couldn’t maintain my composure and burst out into a laughing fit that John only smirked at.

“Everyone does, Roger,” he countered, relinquishing his hold of me and resting his hands on his hips.

I somehow managed to calm down enough and survey my surroundings, realizing for the first time we weren’t in the bar anymore. “Wait, why’d you bring us out here? Aren’t you s’pposed to be on stage?”

John shook his head, folding his arms over his chest and mumbling, “I don’t want to go back there, Rog. It’s a hot mess…an absolute train wreck; an utter catastrophe. They don’t know what the hell they’re doing. I-I didn’t know it was going to be this bad. We sounded fine during rehearsal; I don’t know what went wrong.”

I frowned at his frustration and disappointment, hating to see him so defeated. It absolutely broke my heart, and so, in my barely sober state, I offered, “Well, it _is_ just your first night. You guys didn’t really have time to practice or get used to each other, so of course it was gonna be a shitshow. And it doesn’t help that they’re all wankered beyond belief, more than me…which is really saying something. I mean, _really_.”

A soft chuckle emanated from the back of the bassist’s throat, bringing a small grin to both our faces. I tilted my head down and looked at the ground that was slowly starting to be pulled out from underneath me, grabbing onto John for support and glancing up to meet his concerned gaze. “Y-You need to go back, though,” I stuttered as he placed his hands on my hips, grounding me, “They need you. They can’t do it without you. I mean, you’re the only good thing going for them.”

He smirked. “And what happened to you not wanting them to take me away?”

I mirrored his expression, replying drunkenly, “Now, Jonathan Richard Deacon, who said anything about me being okay with them taking you away? I just think for the sake of saving face – and not just for you, but for all you bastards – you need to go back there.”

The bassist sighed, though the smile on his face remained. “Still not Jonathan, but—”

“Oh, whatever. You know what I mean,” I muttered, pulling him close and drawing him in for a sloppy, yet well-received kiss – just like the first one we shared. We fell back into the brick wall, our bodies pressed against one another's and our hands gripping the other’s arms and sides as we became swept away in the moment. Our breathing picked up, and our minds dissolved our surroundings, making the two of us feel like we were the only ones around.

We tugged at each other’s clothes and kissed different spots to elicit different moans and groans from the other person, and I almost forgot about what I had just said to him. It was only when John pulled back for a split second to whisper, “How about we take this elsewhere, yeah?” that I remembered where he needed to be.

“No, John,” I disagreed, shaking my head and biting my lip that ached for his, “No, you need to go back to the bar. You need to finish that show.”

The bassist pouted, caressing my cheek with the back of his hand. “But Roger—”

“We’ll finish this later tonight,” I told him with a tap on his nose, “Promise.”

*****

I didn’t keep my promise.

After John dragged us both back to the bar, the rest of the night turned into a blur for me. All I remembered was being sat down in a booth, John telling me to stay there until the show was over, and me disobeying him to wander onto the dancefloor. From that moment on, it was all unrecognizable faces, indistinguishable bodies grinding against mine, and random shots offered to me from left and right.

The next I knew, I was waking up with a pounding headache and a sore body. I groaned as I turned away from the light that was shining directly in my face, a warmth dripping down the side of my face. My eyes fluttered open in discomfort and fixated on the small pool of red that had begun to stain the sheets beneath me. I inhaled sharply and shot up, the blood that was flowing from my nose seeping into my mouth and hitting the back of my throat. I gagged at the awful iron taste and jumped out of the bed, startling John awake as I stumbled across the room, tearing open the miniature icebox beside the dresser and grabbing a handful of ice.

With the ice melting in my hand and the blood dripping with no end in sight, I frantically looked around the room for something to put the ice in. My eyes locked on the discarded pair of underwear closest to me and, without a second thought, I snatched them up and dropped the ice cubes into the cloth, quickly bringing it up to my bleeding nose and falling against the dresser with a relieved sigh.

My tired eyes traveled over to the motel bed where John was lying on his side, his head resting in the palm of his hand and the corner of his lips perked upward into a smirk. The blankets were draped over him just right, exposing his chest and calves but cloaking his waist and thighs.

“I’m a mess, aren’t I?” I croaked out with a pitiful chuckle.

“Well, this bed sure is,” he replied cheekily, tugging at covers to demonstrate his point. I rolled my eyes and averted my gaze to my lap, listening to the bed and floorboards creak underneath the bassist as he joined my side and grabbed my free hand in his. I glanced down at our entangled hands and bit my lip as he gave it a slight squeeze, bringing my gaze up to his.

“You know those are mine, right?” he asked, nodding his head towards the makeshift cold compress.

“Makes it all the better,” I sneered, pushing the ice further into my face and getting a laugh out of the bassist. I couldn’t help but join in, laughing along with him until our laughter died down and was replaced with an awkward silence. The two of us took to looking around the room, avoiding one another’s gaze and the conversation that neither of us wanted to have.

Yet our hands stayed together, and at one point, John began to rub his thumb across my skin, building up the courage to blurt out, “I know you probably don’t remember what happened last night—”

“I didn’t do anything bad, did I?” I interrupted him, my mind jumping to a thousand conclusions based on previous nights’ experiences – passing out completely, turning into the bar’s slut, thinking I’m Freddie fucking Mercury…I’ve done it all. Of course, none of them were of my own recollection; rather, they were accounts from other people.

He chuckled. “No, you didn’t do anything bad. You just…you did something I didn’t think you’d ever do, and I just wanted to let you know that…that it really meant a lot to me.” A blush crept up in his cheeks as he met my gaze, his lips parting ever so slightly into a small grin.

I smiled back, simply because I knew it was expected of me. I still had no idea what it was that I did, and why it meant so much to him, but I wasn’t going to be the one to break that to him. I wanted him to think that what I did – whatever it was – was intentional.

John saw right through me, though, his smile fading as he said, “You don’t know what you did, do you?”

“Of course I do!” I tried to convince him, but he kept staring at me, waiting for me to tell him the truth. “Fine, I don’t. Okay? I’m sorry,” I answered honestly, dropping my hand and the ice-and-underwear compress into my lap as the two of us shared another short-lived bout of laughter that ended with a sigh from the bassist as he squeezed my hand again.

“Just know it means a lot to me, Rog,” he repeated himself softly, bringing his hands up to my face and planting a gentle kiss on my lips. His face scrunched up as he pulled away from me, muttering, “You taste awful.”

“Well, blood _was_ just gushing from my nose, so…” I teased before he shook his head and stood up from my side, crossing the room in nothing but his drawers and disappearing into the motel’s bathroom. I bit my lip and stared at the door that closed with a click, wondering what it was that I did last night.

I really couldn’t remember.


	22. Chapter 22

“Okay, guys, last night was an absolute disaster,” Tim declared as we drove to their next venue, the singer’s gaze flickering between the road and his bandmates whom he looked at through the rearview mirror, “We have to step it up tonight.” He smacked his hand against the steering wheel. “We need to do better.”

“Why don’t you try practicing before the show instead of getting shitfaced at the bar?” I suggested dryly, earning a discouraging smack on the arm from John. I stuck my tongue out at him and pettily turned my head to the side, looking out the window and listening as Tim scoffed.

“Why don’t you just shut up and enjoy the ride, Taylor?” he spat back, pulling up to a red light and pivoting his torso to face me, “This is serious stuff, unlike what you and the…the _queens_ are doing.” His pathetic insult earned a brief round of poorly stifled laughs from his passengers – all but John and me, of course.

“Really, Tim?” I retorted angrily, sitting forward in my seat and clinging onto the back of his, continuing over the seat’s shoulder, “You’re just jealous that we proved you wrong and that we’re doing a thousand times better than we ever did with you. In fact, I’m _glad_ you left us for this dumb band.” A small wave of disapproving, mumbled remarks washed over the van.

John nervously chuckled and placed a strong hand on my shoulder, pulling me back and making the amicable suggestion, “H-Hey there, why don’t we go back to talking about tonight’s show? I-I actually had some ideas about what we could do differently if you’ll let me—”

“Well, all those voicemails you left me after I walked out beg to differ,” my former band member snarled, his grip tightening on the steering wheel and my jaw clenching in irritation. His bandmates joined together one final time in a deriding, vexing coo of interest, tinting my cheeks a faint shade of red. If it wasn’t for the side-eye that John gave me, and if we weren’t cruising down the country roads like we were running from the cops, I would’ve retaliated by choking the fucker, but instead, I just crossed my arms and bit my tongue.

 _Four more days,_ I reminded myself, _just four more days._

“What ideas did you have, Deaky?” Humpy Bong’s guitarist, Jonathan, interjected, causing my forehead to crinkle.

“Deaky?” I repeated coldly, leaning forward to meet the guitarist’s confused gaze, “ _Deaky?_ What kind of stupid name is that?” It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d used the same name myself the night prior, but how was I to know? I couldn’t remember.

“Roger, please,” the bassist begged under his breath, stealing my attention with a pacifying hand on my thigh, “It’s just a nickname. Don’t get hung up on it.”

I threw my hand towards Jonathan, ready to reply when the guitarist reaped me of the chance to do so by blurting out, “So, John, those ideas?”

“W-Well for starters,” he began shyly, a blush creeping up in his cheeks, “I feel like some of the songs we’re playing aren’t our strongest. Not that they’re bad! I just…I feel like there are better ones we could include in our set, songs that would really…you know, catch people’s attention.”

Silence fell over the car as glances were shared and heads were eventually nodded. I looked at all of them with a raised eyebrow, trying to decipher and interpret their secret, wordless language.

“Okay then, Deaky, what songs do you think we should do?” Tim questioned from the front, an intrigued smirk on his face.

John smiled.

***** 

“I can’t believe they actually took my suggestions!” John excitedly gushed as he tuned his bass, the rest of the band – once again – at the bar. I was sat on the stage in front of him, my legs dangling over the edge and my hands clasped in my lap. I glanced back over my shoulder and flashed him a weak grin that went unnoticed as he went on to say, “I just…I really think tonight’s going to be a lot better.”

“Why? Because you’re going to play a bunch of songs with the same four chords everyone uses and drum beats that even a beginner could keep up with?” I muttered, maintaining the sardonic grin on my face. 

He shook his head, having heard what I said but choosing to ignore it by replying with, “It’s just nice to be heard for once, Rog; to be taken seriously.”

I couldn’t hold back the laugh that slipped past my lips as I jumped up onto the stage and turned around, folding my arms over my chest and waltzing over to him. “’Wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

“It’s nice,” he reiterated, a newfound seriousness to his voice as he continued messing with the tuning of his strings.

“And what’s the supposed to mean?” I inquired, an offended undertone to my question as the smile that appeared on my face faltered at his words which held more weight to them than he led on.

He heaved a sigh and dropped his arms over his instrument, finally meeting my gaze and asking, “When’s the last time Freddie or Brian actually listened to you, huh? Or the last time they let you make a decision about a song or a show that they didn’t change on you last minute?”

I stared at him blankly, racking my brain for an answer that didn’t exist.

“My point exactly,” John murmured, setting his bass aside and standing up from the stool he was perched on. He took my hands in his and whispered, “Don’t you see it, Rog? I’m actually appreciated in this band. They care about what I think and what I have to say. Can you honestly say the same about the other two?”

I couldn’t.

I couldn’t say the same about the other two, yet I struggled to admit it.

It seemed clear as day to me why Brian and Freddie were the better option over bloody _Humpy Bong,_ and it wasn’t because they were more cooperative and collaborative, or more open to considering ideas that weren’t theirs. It was because they knew what it meant to be a family; to be loyal to someone or something, and because they weren’t willing to immediately throw in the towel when they didn’t get their way or jump ship when the going got tough.

Tim, on the other hand, was the exact opposite, and it angered me that John didn’t see that. He was too blinded by some false promise to see that Tim was just telling him what he wanted to hear, making him feel like he mattered to them, but I knew deep down that as soon as John got the band to where they wanted to be, they'd drop him like he was nothing. That’s just the kind of guy Tim was.

Before either of us could attempt to carry on the conversation, a voice shouted from across the bar. “Hey, break it up, you two! You wouldn’t want to get arrested now, would you?” We both looked back to see the trio drunkenly sauntering across the empty room towards us, a wild grin plastered on Tim’s face as he finished his stein of beer while the other two made fun of John and me by grotesquely pretending to make out with one another.

I wondered if they knew, or if they were just being assholes.

_Probably just being assholes._

*****

I glared at John from the back of the bar, watching him work the stage like he was the leader of the band. Sure, he was still just playing bass while Tim remained front and center, but there was this new aura he gave off, interacting with Humpy Bong like he’d been there from the start. The others played into it too, giving the foursome the presence they desperately needed but lacked the night before. It drove the audience wild.

As for me, I couldn’t stand it. It made me sick to see John enjoying himself so much. I'd never seen him smile as much as he was tonight, especially not with Queen, and that struck a wrong chord in me.

I tried to smile every time he’d look my way, but I couldn’t. My lips would twitch, wanting to curl upward into the facial expression they were expected to form, but I'd just end up looking away and instead pursing them around the edge of my glass, inhaling the drink that burned my throat on its way down and demanding the barkeep to fetch me another one.

It was a dangerous game I was playing, flirting with another night I wouldn’t remember come morning, but who would want to remember the night they realized they were losing the only person they’ve ever loved?

I wasn’t stupid. I might have acted like it sometimes, and sure, some things that Brian’s said have gone straight over my head, but I wasn’t stupid. I could feel the distance growing between John and me, and I didn’t think there was anything that I could do to stop it. Humpy Bong had given him exactly what he wanted; what everyone wants. I didn’t think he’d take the bait so easily, but I guess I was wrong. After all, I thought the same thing about Tim.

I threw my head back and downed the drink I had in my hand, slamming the glass back down on the bar and saying, “Hit me.”

The bartender flashed me a disapproving look before snatching the glass to reluctantly prepare me another drink and informing me that it was going to be my last one. I waved a dismissive hand at him before crossing my arms over my chest and looking back at the stage, watching as the band finished the song they were playing with a bang. The crowd exploded into near deafening applause and cheer, to which my face scrunched up in distaste.

“Say, what’s your boy doing up there?” a voice rung in my ear, cutting through the thunderous clamor and drawing my attention over my shoulder to see the one and only Dominique sitting beside me, the corner of her lip perked up into a sly grin.

“Well, I could ask the same about my girl,” I retorted, my voice slurred as I turned around in my chair to face her and leaned across the bar to shorten the distance between us. “But instead of up there, she’s right here.” I tapped her on the nose, causing her to recoil.

“I’m not your girl, Roger,” she muttered somewhat disappointedly under her breath, smashing her cigarette into the dish on the counter, “I never was.”

I frowned. “Oh, don’t say that. We had some great nights together.”

“One night,” she corrected me bluntly, her raccoon-resembling eyes flickering over to me as she reminisced bitterly, “The other night, you left me for him.” Her head tilted towards the stage, where the band had gone into their next song that sounded almost identical to the last one except for the words. I took a quick glance back at them, catching a glimpse of John as he played in front of the drums, his back to the drummer and his head hung low as he brought his hand up to lick his fingers – something he did when his fingers started to “stick” to the strings.

“I’m not mad at you, though,” Dominique blurted out, resting her arm on my shoulder and bringing my gaze back to her, “I can’t be.”

"Well you should be," I chuckled, nodding my head in gratitude as the bartender set my drink down. I reached out for the cold glass and brought it up to my lips, getting in a quick, “I certainly am,” before gulping the alcohol down in one big, long sip.

“Why?” she giggled, “He’s not that bad-looking, you know. Got a real nice arse, if you ask me. And those thighs…”

I slammed the empty glass down and let out a small burp. “Oh, they’re the best,” I mumbled, thinking about having them wrapped around me at night before I remembered she’d asked me a question, which changed my train of thought completely. I awkwardly shifted in my chair and confessed, “I mean, _he’s_ the best. I just feel stupid for feeling that way about him.”

A pout appeared on her face. “Because you’re afraid your friends won’t accept you?”

“No, I…” My voice faded out and was replaced with an embarrassed chuckle. “I’m not worried about that. Have you seen my friend, Freddie?” She blushed, and it wasn’t long before I matched her facial expression, continuing with, “I’m just worried that my other friend’s right.”

“About…?”

“Him hurting me.”

“Who? Him?” she retorted incredulously, throwing her thumb in the stage’s direction, “He doesn’t look like he could hurt a fly.”

“I really like him, Dominique,” I told her, my voice low and astonishingly serious for the amount of alcohol coursing through my veins, “And…And I feel like a whole arse fool because he’s just like the rest of them.” I glanced back over my shoulder, grimacing as my saddened, bloodshot eyes falling on the lead singer. “He’s just like Tim.”

“Did you love him too?” the dark-haired girl asked, a sincerity to her question as she twirled a piece of my hair around her finger, itching to regain my attention. I couldn’t look away from the band, though, tears starting to form in my eyes as her inquiry rung in my ears.

I shook my head no and answered, “Not like John.”

A private moment of silence passed over us – the rest of the bar erupting into another round of praise for the band who took their bows and thanked everyone for being such a great audience, letting them know they were going to slow things down for a bit before starting to play a rough cover of Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling In Love.” I rolled my eyes in disgust as the crowd began to pair up in twos, swaying along to the music while others dispersed to go to the bathroom or refill their drinks.

“Care to dance?” Dominique offered, standing up and extending her hand out.

My eyebrows furrowed together, and I looked back at her with stinging eyes. “What, so you can take me back to wherever you’re staying at and sleep with me because I’m vulnerable? I just told you I—”

“For fuck’s sake, Roger, no. Come on,” she grumbled before pulling me out of my seat and onto the dancefloor, placing my hands on her hips and resting her hands atop my shoulders. “Just follow me lead, yeah? You’re not too wankered to do that, are you?” She began to step side to side, tugging me along with her in hopes I would eventually stop my resistance and be capable of moving on my own.

“Why are you doing this?” I grumbled as I hesitantly eased into the movements. 

Dominique sighed and rested her head on my chest, holding us close as she replied, “Because, Roger, you should tell him how you feel with a clear mind.” She tilted her head back to look at me and smiled cheekily. “And there’s no way you’re going to be able to do that staying at the bar all night, is there?”

I shook my head in disbelief and glanced back at the stage, my eyes falling on John who was so into the music he couldn’t be bothered to lift his head up, plucking away at his bass and moving his hips side to side in time with the song. “I appreciate the sentiment, Dominique, but it won’t matter whether I tell him or not. I’ve already lost him; I know I have. Just look at him. I’ve never seen him so…so…”

The dark-haired girl turned her head and observed the sight for herself, attempting to finish the end of my sentence with, “Happy?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, burying my nose in the top of her head and repeating her dismally, “Happy.”

We stood there in the back of the crowd for a little longer, listening to the horrendous rendition of the Elvis classic while we mirrored the other pairs swaying on the dancefloor, enjoying one another’s company. It was strange, dancing with her. Normally, I would’ve already whispered something in her ear, and we’d be stumbling out of the bar to find a dark corner or private place to ravish one another in. But now, I was content with just this.

“I’m sorry you feel the way you do,” Dominique murmured as the song thankfully came to a close, her brown eyes drifting back up to mine and her hands trailing from my shoulders to my chest, “But everything’s going to be okay. I have faith that he’ll realize how much of a fool he’d be to leave you for them, because he doesn’t belong there. He belongs with you, and the other two.”

A blush crept up in my cheeks, awkwardly bringing my hand to the back of my neck. “Only if he knew, right?”

The dark-haired girl giggled and leaned in, planting a kiss on my cheek and whispering, “It’s always a pleasure seeing you, Roger.” She separated herself from me and stuck her hand out once more, this time for a handshake. “Until next time, friend?”

I nodded my head and placed my hands in hers. “Until next time, friend.”

Dominique grinned and waved goodbye to me, disappearing into the crowd as Humpy Bong announced they’d be playing their last song. I shoved my hands into my pockets and scuffed the ground beneath my feet, turning my attention to the stage and John who I swore met my gaze, a smile growing on his face as the drummer tapped his sticks against one another and started their final song.

_Only if he knew …_


	23. Chapter 23

The rest of the tour went by agonizingly slow for me, but I managed to make it to the last day without completely losing it. Dominique’s and my talk gave me a spark of hope, and I suppose that’s why I didn’t make much of a fuss the past few days. I had faith that John would make the right decision in the end. He had to.

I shouldn’t have been so sure about that, though.

It was the night before we headed back to London, and the band somehow had racked up enough cash from the shows to get us all hotel rooms, _nice_ hotel rooms. Although there was enough money for each of us to get our own rooms, John and I decided to pair up – for obvious reasons – and I was fairly certain that the only reason the band didn’t give us any trouble about it was because they could use the extra money to get blitzed, which they took no time in doing. The two of us had a little to drink too, so it was a trip trying to find our room, giggling like two school girls as we stumbled down the halls, grabbing onto each other like our lives depended on it.

We burst into our hotel room and nearly tripped over each other’s feet as we staggered towards the bed, our lips connected and our hands tugging at each other’s clothes, ungracefully pulling the shirts over our heads and the pants down our legs and over our feet. Things started to become a blur after John pushed me down on the bed and I crawled back on my elbows to the headboard, smiling at him as he crawled in after me, slipping in between my legs and capturing my lips with his again.

As he pressed into me, I could feel his hard against mine, and the sensation drove me wild. I tugged at his hair, desperate to feel him inside me instead of against me; to relieve the tension that had quickly built down there.

John seemed to understand my wordless plea and began kissing down my neck and torso at a tortuously slow pace. He stopped just below my navel and looked up at me, showing off that toothy grin of his I adored so much. I couldn’t help but smile back down at him as I wrapped one of my hands in his hair and gently nudged his head towards where I really wanted it to go.

The bassist let out a soft laugh at my boldness, teasingly rubbing his hands up my legs all the while maintaining eye contact with me. It briefly occurred to me that John was being excessively affectionate, but I easily brushed it off as having something to do with the alcohol or the fact that we hadn’t had much time alone throughout this tour. It wasn’t his fault, though – the band was a disorganized mess that couldn’t get their shit together, and so most of the week was spent working on their subpar, unoriginal songs and racing against the clock to get from one place to the next. Tonight was an absolute godsend.

I sighed in relief as John finally curled his fingers under the waistband of my underwear and pulled them off, throwing them carelessly to the side. When John got off the bed to strip off his own underwear, I took the opportunity to sit up and begin to shift so that I would be on my hands and knees. I was surprised when I felt John’s firm grip on my wrist as he knelt back down on the bed.

“Something wrong?” I asked as I settled into my original position.

“No…I-I just wanna see you,” he stammered, looking down at the mattress in bashful embarrassment.

I reached up and cupped one of his warm cheeks, feeling the faint blush that had spread across his face. “Of course,” I answered, grinning up at him.

John lightly kissed my wrist and returned to his place between my legs, draping his body over mine and attacking my neck with his mouth again. A quiet moan escaped my lips and I instinctively rolled my hips up into his, looking for any kind of friction. I smirked as I felt his own moan vibrate against my skin, clearly affected by my move.

He lifted his head to look at me, a sly grin stretching across his face, and brought his fingers up to my lips, softly ghosting over them. I couldn’t take his teasing any longer, and so I unceremoniously put my mouth around two of his fingers and swirled my tongue around them, John's erratic breath fanning over my skin. He slowly drew his hand away from me, producing a lewd, wet sound as his fingers were released from my mouth.

The bassist trailed his hand down my body and sat back on his heels. As his hand reached its final destination between my legs, I drew in a sharp breath. He noticed and glanced up at me with concern in his eyes. "You alright?" he asked, rubbing small, comforting circles onto my thigh with his other hand.

I nodded my head almost furiously against the pillows and let out a breath, trying to relax my body. John didn't seem very convinced by my answer, so I grabbed his hand from my thigh and laced our fingers together while spreading my legs farther in wordless affirmation. He gave me a coy half-smile before inserting his first finger into my body. My eyes rolled back further than I thought possible as he quickly added a second finger, taking no time at all to open me up. My babbling nonsense that came from John twisting his fingers around to find my prostate was soon replaced by blissful groans that admittedly were louder than they should’ve been, considering where we were. My cock ached with anticipation and was leaking an embarrassing amount for how little John had done to me.

"S-Stop…te-teasing," I managed to stutter out while tightly squeezing his hand that lied on my stomach, still enveloped by mine. He gripped my hand back and taunted me by adding a third finger, causing me to moan something akin to a scream as he roughly pressed against my prostate.

"Just making sure you're ready," John assured me. I whimpered as he abruptly pulled his fingers out, wiping them on the debatably clean hotel sheets. He crawled back up my body and placed a chaste kiss on my lips with a quiet, "Sorry."

Based on our new position, I took the chance to reach between our bodies and return some of the teasing. John gasped and his eyelids fluttered shut as I unexpectedly squeezed his cock, gathering the precum from the tip and spreading it down his length while lightly kissing his cheek. I carelessly stroked him for a while, changing my speed every now and then and focusing on nothing except the low moans emitting from his mouth.

"Rog, stop," John suddenly grunted out. I immediately retracted my hand and must have looked concerned because he simply smiled down at me. "I don't want to finish like this," he explained, giving my other hand another quick squeeze.

"I’m just making sure you're ready," I giggled, mocking his previous statement.

John rolled his eyes and got settled between my legs again, this time lining himself up with my entrance. Relief washed over me as he finally slid inside me, and I pulled his face down for a kiss that wasn’t a kiss at all; rather, it was just the two of us breathing heavily into each other's mouths.

Once John was fully seated inside of me, he paused and stared right into my eyes. We stayed like that for a few moments, enjoying the moment and the feel of our bodies joined together, but also making sure that we were ready to continue. There was no turning back now, though, and so I gave him a hasty nod of approval, which prompted him to start shallowly thrusting into me.

I hooked my legs around his waist and dug my heels into his back, encouraging him to go deeper. "Ugh…Deaky," I drawled, arching my back. He abruptly stopped moving and looked down at me, cocking an eyebrow.

"Did you just call me Deaky? I thought you hated that nickname," he grinned.

"Oh, shove it," I groaned, kicking his ass with my heel.

"Don’t mind if I do," John laughed.

My snarky retort was cut off by a high-pitched moan, punched out of me as John slammed into me with a pleasant roughness I wasn’t prepared for. He maintained a fast, ungraceful rhythm, causing a thin sheen of sweat to gather on both of our bodies. I pushed my hips back into his as he pounded into me and, with the alcohol still faintly buzzing in our minds, we both knew we wouldn't last long.

"I'm close, Roger," John whispered, his voice strained, "C-Can I finish inside you?"

My cock twitched at John's words and I tried my best to formulate a response as our bodies continued to rock together. "Yes, please," I finally breathed out, John instinctively wrapping his hand around my length.

It only took a few strokes before I reached my release with John's name on my lips, letting out a deep moan as I felt John simultaneously finish inside of me, flopping down on me shortly after. I carded my hand through his hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead as we laid together, trying to catch our breaths.

Minutes passed before John reluctantly rolled off me and reached over to grab a tissue from the nightstand, wiping both of us off before standing up and disappearing into the bathroom.

I silently reached a lazy hand out to him in an attempt to bring him back, but as soon as the door shut behind him, my hand dropped, and I turned over onto my stomach. My face was buried in the sheets, my eyelids heavy with exhaustion, and my heart trying to slow itself down. As I began to doze off, I developed an acute awareness of my surroundings – the cool night’s breeze that cut through the room and danced across my bare back, the smell of alcohol on my breath that filled the air every time I exhaled, and the sound of running water, mixed with the sound of giggles and whispers that grew and faded as their source passed by the hotel room. It was all very calming, and I didn’t know how long I was out before I was startled by the sound of a lighter trying to be ignited.

I lifted my head that felt heavier than normal and drowsily glanced over to the balcony where I found John standing naked on the balcony, cigarette in one shaky hand and a lighter in another. I watched in silence as he finally got the end of the white stick to burn, setting aside the lighter just as quickly as he brought the cigarette up to his lips and inhaled deeply to calm his evident nerves.

“I hope that wasn’t mine,” I grumbled, attracting John’s attention for but a second, his gaze returning to the city below us as he allowed the smoke he’d been holding in his mouth and throat to slip past his lips.

“Go back to sleep, Roger,” he murmured in response, going for another drag.

I folded my arms underneath my head and whined tiredly, “But I don’t want to.”

He heaved a sigh and wrapped his hands around the balcony’s edge, the burning stick pinched between his two fingers as his thoughts manifested themselves into the dying night, “What do you think’s going to happen when we go back?”

I pondered the situation for a little bit, my exhausted mind struggling to avoid distractions like the yearning of a cigarette for myself, before I answered sleepily, “We’re gonna finish the album and become rock stars.”

A wistful chuckle cut through the silence, followed by the sound of John breathing in that tantalizing puff of nicotine I craved more and more with every passing second, even in my semi-conscious state. He let it out slowly and muttered, “You really think so?”

“I know so,” I assured him, my words slurred as I buried my face back into the sheets.

The two of us stayed like that for a while longer, John standing alone on the balcony while I took up most of the bed, falling in and out of consciousness. In my slumber, I missed the looks that the bassist kept sending my way, studying every part of my body in excruciating detail as if to take a mental snapshot of me to remember forever. I neglected to acknowledge the sorrow and regret that glistened in his tearful eyes, torn between the two roads ahead of him. Although I’m sure he’d deny it if ever interrogated about it later on, he’d already made up his mind that night, which was why he tried so hard to make it special. It was his idea to stay at the nicer hotel; it was his idea for him and me to room together. He didn’t want me to remember this night as something awful; he wanted me to remember it for this – the connection we had, the love we made, the memory of him before I saw him as a traitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my sister, Natalie, for helping me out with this chapter! I'm not the best at writing these scenes myself, so she came in clutch like the awesome sister she is and helped me write it. I hope you guys liked it!


	24. Chapter 24

“Hey, are you sleeping?” a voice tickled my ear as the bed dipped down beside me and a hand fell on the small of my back. I knew it was John by his touch and the timidity of his question.

“I was,” I groaned, my voice muffled by the blankets I’d bunched underneath my head as a makeshift pillow. “Why? What do you want?”

John didn’t answer me immediately, admiring the soft features of my face as I began to doze off. He hung his head in shame and ran his fingertips over my skin in a thoughtless kind of way, tracing different symbols across my back and trying to find the right way to vocalize what was on his mind.

“Nothing,” he finally settled on, a reluctant quivering to his voice as he made himself comfortable, lying down beside me and looking at my feet that rested on the pillows beside his head. Neither he or I could recall how I’d ended up facing the other way, but there we were, lying opposite one another, heads to feet and feet to heads. A brief look of disgust appeared on his face before he pulled himself into a sitting position, his back to the headboard and his hands clasped together in his lap.

Silence consumed the room, disturbed only by the crickets outside and the whir of the fan that spun at its highest setting above us. The noises began to blur together for me, and just as I was about to fall back asleep, John blurted out, “I’ve been working on my song.”

“That’s great, John,” I muttered, his words going in one ear and right out the other.

He stared at me with a growing smirk on his face, waiting for me to fully comprehend what he’d just said. However, when a soft snore slipped past my lips – his remark not having the effect on me that he wished it had – he pinched my foot and elicited a shocked gasp out of me, earning a swift kick to the arm. “What the fuck?” I snapped, my fuzzy vision slowly focusing on the bassist behind me who was clutching his slightly aching bicep and laughing. “What do you bloody want?”

“ _I said_ , I’ve been working on my song.”

I stared at him for a little longer, attempting to process what he was saying to me in my groggy state, but when it finally clicked for me, my eyes doubled in size. I’d forgotten about the damn thing, it had been so long, but that didn't stop me from being any less excited. So, using all the strength I could muster, I pulled myself up and crawled across the mattress, holding myself over his legs on my hands and knees and replying incredulously, “You’re lying.” John shook his head. “Come on, there’s no way you finished that song. _I_ haven’t even finished _my_ song yet.”

“I didn’t say I finished it,” he retorted, flashing me a cheeky grin, “I said I’ve been working on it.”

“Well, show me what you got,” I insisted, tumbling over on my side to the empty half of the mattress and resting my head in my hand, looking up at the bassist with a wide, eager smile. He rolled his eyes and dragged himself over to his bag, shuffling through its contents in search of the notebook he’d mapped the song out in. I could already feel the laughter building up inside of me as I contemplated what lyrics he could’ve come up with for such a… _risqué_ topic.

Once he found what he was looking for, he jumped back on the bed and rejoined my side, doing as I’d asked him but with great hesitation. I extended my unoccupied hand out for the notebook, which he protectively held close to his chest. “You’re not going to make fun of me, are you?” he inquired, a blush rising in his shadow-cast cheeks. We only had a few hours before the sun began to rise, and as soon as we’d washed ourselves up – getting rid of any evidence left behind from last night’s excursions – we’d be off to London with the rest of the band.

I scoffed. “Of course not, John.” _Sure, I was. I mean, how could I_ not _? He wrote a song about coming too quickly, for fuck’s sake._ “Don’t be stupid, hand it over.”

A look of skepticism appeared on his face before he relinquished the notebook to me. I greedily took it into my possession and began to skim it over, each line tugging the corners of my lips more and more upward and making it increasingly more difficult for me to hold back the laughter that wanted to escape my throat. I couldn’t take the piece seriously, but deep down, I knew I had to. He wanted to be appreciated for his talents, and although I wasn’t sure songwriting was one of his strong suits, that didn’t mean he couldn’t work on it. He just needed the encouragement, and if it was going to come from anyone – excluding _Humpy Bong_ – it should come from me.

“So, what do you think?” he wondered, the weighted silence in the room becoming too agonizing for him to bear. “Does it make sense to you?” I met his worried gaze.

I shifted my attention back to the notebook, getting another stifled laugh out of the words scrawled across the page, weakened by pencil erasures and cross-outs, before glancing back up into his anxious eyes and answering, “Maybe it did when you wrote it.”

John smirked before snatching the notebook out of my grasp and taking a look at it for himself, murmuring, “That’s the kindest thing anyone’s said to me in months.”

“Kind?” I repeated, dropping my jaw and bringing my hand up to my mouth to disguise the yawn that ripped through me.

“Yes, kind,” the bassist simply replied, too invested in his song to bother looking over at me.

Again, the crickets and the fan took over the conversation, filling the gap that grew with each passing second. It was in this near silent moment that I noticed John’s withdrawal. Although he was lying right across from me, our elbows that held our heads up practically touching, it felt as though he was on the other side of town; the other side of the country. Hell, it seemed like he was in a whole other country, and despite my ability to reach out and touch him, caress his cheek, and run my fingers through his hair, a part of me knew I couldn’t bring him back. He was too far gone, but I’d be damned if I didn’t try.

“You know, I know that Freddie and Brian can be harsh sometimes in their criticisms, but it’s just because they care,” I mumbled, drawing meaningless shapes across the crinkled bed sheets with my finger, “They know what it takes to make it out there, and they just want to make sure we have a good chance.”

John stared at me for a bit before suddenly rolling off the side of the bed, a loud _thud_ echoing through the room as he landed on the ground. “Hey, I’m serious!” I exclaimed with a chuckle, looking over the side of the bed and seeing that big, goofy grin of his staring right back at me. I rolled my eyes in playful annoyance and flopped back down on my side of the mattress, the bassist pulling himself back up onto the bed and reclaiming his spot next to me.

The smile he adorned himself with only lasted a few more seconds before it eventually turned into a frown, an undeniable truth hidden in his change in behavior. I could tell he wanted to lie to me; to tell me that he wasn’t going anywhere and that I had nothing to worry about, but he couldn’t, and so instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat and handed the notebook back to me, saying, “Maybe they could help you out with this, then.”

My eyebrows furrowed together in confusion at his out-of-the-blue suggestion, but it didn’t take me long to catch on to what he was trying to do. I scoffed at his seemingly sly move and shook my head, replying, “But it’s your song, John.”

“I-I know, but I really want you to have it,” the bassist insisted, forcing the notebook into my hand by uncurling my fingers from my palm and wrapping them instead around his pages. “You’re just such a better songwriter than me, Rog,” he explained, his voice rapidly losing its confidence as he bit his lip, “If it stays with me, I know it’s never going to get anywhere, but if it’s with you and the guys—”

“No,” I refused, "No, you're not doing this."

“Roger please,” he pled, “I just—”

“No!” I shouted, forgetting where we were and what hour it was as tears built in my eyes. I attempted to blink them away before John could see them, but it was too late. A remorseful look flooded his eyes, and I could tell he wanted to say something, but I robbed him of the chance as I pushed myself up off the bed and walked over to the arm chair positioned in the corner of the room. I kept my back to him and clutched onto the notebook tightly, a teardrop rolling down my cheek and dropping onto the page with a small splash. “You were supposed to be different,” I croaked.

John sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t do that, Rog.”

“Don’t do _what,_ John?” I snapped, throwing my head over my shoulder.  

“Don’t make it seem like I’m crazy for choosing this.”

“But you are!” I screamed.

He shook his head, muttering, “I know you won't believe me, Rog, but this is just as hard for me as it is for you." _I doubt it_ , I thought. "It's just that...Tim and them, they’re going places. They’re gonna be big. I-I’ve got a give it a go.”

Silence fell over the room as his familiar words rung in my ears. My immediate response was to tell him that he was speaking out of his ass; that I’d heard the same thing before, and that if he’d just listen to me, he’d realize he was making the wrong decision. I mean, just look where it took Tim, playing shitty shows at shitty bars, and for what? A single night’s stay at a nice hotel? Was that Humpy Bong’s idea of “going places”? It couldn’t possibly have been John’s; he had more ambition than that, or so I thought.

“I’m sorry, Rog,” John apologized, “I-I don’t know exactly what happened between you and Tim, but…this isn’t like that, okay?"

Except, it was. 

Tim had been Brian’s friend for a long time, and when I auditioned for their band, he became my friend too, although there was something more to our friendship than there was to theirs. The day of the audition, Tim followed me on my way out and stopped me, pushing me into one of the doorway nooks and pressing his lips roughly against mine. That kiss would be the first of many that we shared in the shadows and behind our friends’ and families’ backs.

It was strange, the way he made me feel, but I liked it. I _really_ liked it, and with every chance I got, and every time he’d pull me aside – claiming that we needed to talk in private, or that he needed help finding something – I didn’t hesitate to say yes. I often wondered that, if I had, it wouldn’t have hurt so much when he told us he was leaving, because it wasn’t just the band he was leaving. He was leaving me too.

After Tim’s desertion, I didn’t think I’d never feel the way he made me feel ever again. At first, I searched endlessly for someone to fill the void Tim had left in me, finding adequate solace in anything that had two legs and a decent pair of lips, but after a while, I grew bored of it. The sex just wasn’t the same.

Looking back on it, things shouldn’t have been all that different after Tim abandoned me. It wasn’t like he and I were in a relationship. In fact, during our time as a band, he and I had both gone through several rotations of girls who thought they could be the one, yet at the end of the day, it was always each other that we'd come back to. I’d call him or he’d call me, and no matter what time it was, we’d meet up and forget about everything that had been troubling us – school, a band-related issue, a girlfriend problem, anything. Being with Tim made everything alright, and without him by my side, I felt empty. I missed his calls; I missed calling him, but most of all, I just missed _him_.

My anguish evolved into anger the more Brian insisted we find another bassist. We’d already found a new singer, with Freddie practically begging to join the band – after all, he knew every song of Smile’s by heart, attending every show in support of Tim, who was also his friend – but he couldn’t play bass; he could only sing and play piano. I offered to take the responsibility myself, the thought of replacing Tim completely too much for me to handle, but Brian refused to even entertain the idea. “That’s absurd, Roger, you’re a drummer,” he told me, a contrasting sincerity to his blunt observation, “You can’t play the bass and drum at the same time.”

“Watch me!” I yelled, but I knew he was right. He was always right.

Months went by, and it was by freak chance that Freddie had found John. I tried to keep my walls up; I tried to prevent history from repeating itself, but I just couldn’t help it. I found myself in the same situation I was in before, except this time seemed worse, because I didn’t love Tim. I loved the way he made me feel – that’s all, I came to realize. However, with John, it wasn’t just about me anymore. It was about both of us, because I loved him. I truly loved him, and—

“I don’t want you to go,” I whimpered, tossing his notebook to the side and rushing back towards the bed, where I lunged at the bassist who caught me in his arms, startled by my crying into his bare chest and my clinging to him like this was the last time I’d ever seen him.

For all that mattered, it was.


	25. Chapter 25

You would’ve thought that I’d be happy to be back home after my week in hell. After all, that’s what everyone else in the band thought, joking about it all morning, from the minute John and I were “woken up” by them pounding on our door to the minute we arrived at the flat. I put on a smile and laughed along, but deep down inside, I wanted to punch in every one of their faces – including John’s.

We hadn’t spoken a word since last night, since the argument, since my breakdown. Neither of us were able to fall back asleep once things settled, though there were no more whispers of “Are you sleeping?” Instead, we just stayed there in one another’s arms, silently holding onto each other and cherishing the last moment we had together. Was it perfect? No, of course not. Nothing was perfect, but it was something.

When the sun rose up from behind the horizon, he was the first one to leave the bed, slowly slipping out from underneath me and maneuvering around me as if I was some fragile thing he didn’t want to break, but he’d already broken me. He had been since we first met, little by little, whether he knew it or not.

My body sunk into the mattress as he stood up and circled the bed, retreating to the bathroom to clean himself up. I didn’t try to reach out for him this time, nor did I try to bring him back to bed, not even for just a moment longer. I just lied there, staring at the ceiling, dreading the moment he’d come out of that bathroom and tell me I should get ready too.

I didn’t want to get ready; I didn’t want to leave, but I had to.

We all had to, and before I knew it, I was back in that crammed van with the band I somehow managed to hate even more than before. The ride was unbearable with John pressed up against me and the band choosing to discuss their future plans instead of listening to the radio. I covered my ears, I counted how many red cars we passed, I even thought about one of Brian’s stupid anecdotes about god-knows-what. I tried _everything_ to drown out their talking, but they just kept getting louder and louder the more they got excited.

They’d asked John for his opinion, but he was too distracted to respond. He’d been giving his full attention to me, hoping I would look over at him, hoping I would say something, but I couldn’t bring myself to do either. I just wanted to get home, to get away from Humpy Bong and their newest member, so much so that I started to feel ill, a kind of ill that the rolled-down window couldn’t suppress.

As the van turned the corner onto the street where the guys and I lived, my heavy eyes fell upon two, small, easily recognizable figures sitting by the curb. A cloud of smoke disguised the pair for only a second, partially drifting up into the sky while partially dispersing in other directions, one of the two figures waving their arm to clear the air. I smirked, imagining the snide comment the companion made about the smoker’s habit and the sassy remark he received in return.

Tim brought the car up to the opposite curb that Brian and Freddie were fixed on and shifted the vehicle into park, looking back over his shoulder at me and saying, “Time for you to go, blondie." An evil grin crawled onto his face as he tacked on, "Hopefully we'll see each other again soon, yeah?"

The smirk on my face vanished, instantly being replaced with a glare, as I ripped the door open and hopped out of the vehicle, evading John’s attempt to catch me while I rounded the van and pulled my bag out of the back, a few of the instruments tumbling down from the heap they’d created and filling the space my belongings had previously occupied. I slammed the door shut and slung my bag over my shoulder, starting to cross the street with no intention of looking back because I knew it’d hurt too much. It already hurt bad enough, knowing how humiliating it was returning by myself and how awful it was going to be to explain why John wasn’t with me.

Brian and Freddie had stood up from the sidewalk by then, suspicious expressions slathered across their faces as they watched me approach them alone. I forced my lips to form a grin and raised my hand to wave, but I was stopped by a strong hand yanking me back and spinning me round. My body froze as arms snaked around me, John's soft hair brushing up against the side of my face and his quivering lips grazing the skin on my neck. Slowly, then quickly, I relinquished the hold of my bags and hugged him back, tightly, burying my face in his shoulder as the pain I tried to avoid gave me no other choice than to face it.

I didn’t have to look to know that the singer and guitarist’s confusion worsened as they watched John and I hold one another in the middle of the road, at risk of being hit at any moment. The street was deserted, though, and being run over was the least of our concerns. What concerned us the most was the prospect of never seeing each other again. John claimed that it wouldn’t happen, but so did Tim. They were more alike than he knew, and instead of being mad at him, I was mad at myself. I should’ve been smarter; I should’ve taken Brian’s advice.

_When would I ever learn?_

After what felt like an eternity, which wasn’t long enough, John pulled away and stared deep into my eyes. His glistened in the sunlight, but he remained calm, collected, everything I wasn’t.

The bassist met Brian and Freddie’s changing gazes and waved to them, and by then they’d both received the message. However, I had a feeling that Brian knew all along that this was how the trip would’ve ended, and how our return would play out, because although he seemed upset, he smiled at John and waved back. Freddie, on the other hand, stood still – hip popped out the side, arms folded over his chest, and narrowed eyes locked on the two of us. It was as if he was trying to telepathically communicate with John to change his mind. _It’s too late_ , I wanted to tell him, _I’ve already tried_ , but the words got caught in my swelling throat.

John took one last look at me before escaping to the van, all the bandmembers snapping back into position from watching us, curious as to what was going to happen. Would he decide to stay? Would he make me cry? Would Brian and Freddie get involved? They wanted a show, which I was convinced was the reason they kept recruiting our band members. Who was going to be next? Freddie?

“Where the hell does he think he’s going?” the singer called out, his voice intentionally louder than normal and his hand tossed in the direction of the van that wobbled as John climbed back in, the door sliding shut behind him.

I picked my bag up from the ground and shortened the distance between him, Brian, and me, answering sardonically, “He’s going places.”

The guitarist frowned, muttering, “Of course he is,” under his breath.

Just as Freddie was about to reply, Tim revved the van’s engine – attracting all our attentions – and sped off, leaving us in the dust. The singer gasped in disbelief at the disrespect that had been tossed his way, dropping his jaw and bringing a hand to his chest. We stood there, speechless, as the vehicle shrunk in size. I tried to stay strong, reciting lies to myself in an attempt to hold back the emotions that wanted to take over, but I couldn’t.

Telling myself that John never loved me couldn’t hold back the tears that began to blur my vision, nor could telling myself that I never loved him stop the closing of my throat. I knew I loved him, and I knew he loved me, but what I didn’t know was why he left, why he _really_ left. I heard what he said, but the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice made it hard to believe him. Yet there he was, driving away with my mortal enemy.

I choked back a sob and tried to hide myself behind my hands, but my efforts proved futile. A comforting hand clamped down on my shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze before pulling me into a warm side, Brian’s, where he wrapped his arms around me and held me close. I unapologetically cried into his shirt, too upset to notice the strange look I was receiving from my other band member.

“Go inside, Fred,” Brian whispered as I clung onto him, losing the strength to keep myself up, “and put on some tea while you’re at it, yeah?”

*****

Our empty tea cups and saucers sat scattered about the coffee table, the three of us piled on the couch behind it and situated rather closely. Freddie and Brian sat towards the middle, Brian turned sideways so that he was facing Freddie and me, who lied across his lap, my legs propped up on one arm of the sofa and my hands clasped together on top of my stomach. I glared at the ceiling with stinging eyes, taking comfort in Brian weaving his fingers through my hair as we sat in silence.

It had started to rain outside, an ironically perfect outward manifestation of the heartache that consumed me whole. I listened intently to the raindrops hitting the windows and trickling down the gutters, wordlessly berating myself for being so stupid; for letting myself get hurt again.

I thought I was stronger than this. Since when did I let people dictate my life, my feelings? For as long as I remember, it was my way or the highway, then Tim and John came along and fucked me over. They royally fucked me over, and were they even sorry about it? I doubted it. Their heads were too far up their asses to see what their actions had done. It was like I meant nothing to them, even though they meant everything to me. _God, how could I have been so stupid?_

“You know, my mother used to tell me this one story when I was younger,” the guitarist blurted out, a softness to his voice as he continued without invitation (for I didn’t really care for what he had to say, and I couldn’t imagine Freddie did either), “It was about this handsome young knight who fell in love with a princess—”

“Oh, oh, I think I’ve heard this story before!” Freddie chimed in excitedly, “The princess loves him back, but she doesn’t realize it, right?”

“...Right,” Brian agreed begrudgingly, trying to hide the aggravation in his voice with the loud clearing of his throat. “And so, they become friends, but because of the friendship that forms between them—”

“The knight can’t profess his love to her!” the singer interjected once again. Both Brian and I shot glares in his direction.

“Wow, Fred, I didn’t know my mum told you this story too,” the guitarist sneered, his fingers running through my hair just a little rougher than before, “Why don’t you tell the rest of it, since you seem to know it so well?”

“Or how about we just shut up and not talk at all?” I suggested, hissing at Brian’s added pressure and sitting up ever so slightly out of his reach, turning my head back and leering at him through narrowed eyes.

A moment passed among us where we all exchanged looks, Freddie rolling his eyes in involuntary surrender and me lying back down as Brian heaved a sigh and continued as calmly as he could, “So the knight, because of the friendship he’d developed with the princess, was…ah, what’s the words she used…” His voice trailed off, and we both could see that the singer was more than ready to provide the answer, so he raised a finger and silenced Freddie before he could even attempt to speak. Again, Freddie rolled his eyes, however this time, he crossed his arms over his chest too.

The two of us stared at each other, having our own little, wordless conversation in which we devised a way to escape this torture together while Brian struggled to find the words he wanted to say. Just as we shifted our bodies, though, ready to enact our plan, the guitarist gasped and shouted, “Humbled and speechless! He was so humbled and speechless by their friendship that he couldn’t bring up the subject of his love. Until one day, he asked her, point-blank—

“— ‘Is it better to speak or to die?’” he finished, Freddie mouthing the words with him. My eyebrows furrowed together, freaked out that they both knew this story so well, quoting it by heart. I could barely remember the lyrics to our songs, even _my_ songs, and there the two were, reciting this unheard-of story like they’d written it themselves.

Brian glanced down at me and chuckled at the bewildered expression drawn across my face. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m trying to cheer you up.”

“And how the hell was that supposed to cheer me up?” I sneered, meeting his gaze as my brows inched closer to one another, this time out of irritation. The curly-haired weirdo refrained from answering my question, staring at me and continuing to mindlessly card his fingers through my blonde locks. I scoffed and folded my arms over my chest, looking back up at the ceiling and mumbling, “What kind of stupid story even was that?”

“Oh, don’t be so oblivious, darling. You’re smarter than that,” Freddie muttered, earning himself a glare in his direction from me.

I felt the embarrassed warmth fill my cheeks as I gradually and regretfully understood the parallels between their dumb story and mine and John's, and I could only hope that he wouldn’t notice and exploit it. I wasn’t in the mood to completely fall apart again. I just wanted to forget this all ever happened, put out the stupid album, and be done with it all. And by it all, I meant John too.

The singer leaned over my legs and snatched the half-empty pack of cigarettes up from the table. He pulled one out and pinched it between his lips, going to grab the lighter that was sitting beside it when I stuck my hand out, wordlessly asking for one too. Brian rolled his eyes as Freddie did too, extracting another white stick from the flimsy cardboard box and placing it in my hand. I brought it up to my mouth and had it sticking up in the air, moving it side to side, front and back, and in circles with my lips as I impatiently waited for Freddie to light his then mine.

While the singer struggled to spark a flame for himself, he asked with the cigarette tucked inside the corner of his lips, “Do you think he enjoyed working with us?”

A brief moment of silence passed over the both of us before Brian answered, “I think so.”

Freddie finally succeeded in his endeavor and took a deep, relaxing breath, reaching over and using the still burning flame to light my cigarette as well, commenting casually, “You and he sure were close, Rog.”

I blew out a cloud of smoke into the air, the nicotine providing just the right amount of numbing I needed to get through the rest of this never-ending day. A displeased expression appeared on Brian’s face as he sat further back, away from me and the scent he should’ve grown used to by now, while I replied despondently to Fred, “Yeah, we were.”

“Brian, dear, why don’t you go make us some more tea?” the singer abruptly suggested, looking over at the guitarist who gave him a baffled look. “I want to talk to Rog alone, and it wouldn’t be fair for two of us to leave the room when only one could leave, would it?”

My eyes widened in sudden fear as Brian heaved an annoyed sigh and, without so much as the highly expected push-back, pulled himself up from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, where he turned on the water and did his best to give Freddie and me the privacy the singer had asked for. Freddie looked down at me, the smile he tried adorning himself with faltering as he contemplated about what he wanted to say, or rather, _how_ he wanted to say it. He and I both knew I was a ticking time bomb, even more so than I usually was, and so he had to phrase his remark just right so as to not send me off the deep end.

He pressed his lips together tightly and turned his attention to the arm of the couch, playing with the fraying fabric. I thought about following through with his and my escape plan the longer he didn’t say anything, but at the last minute – just as I was about to roll off of him and leave the room, perhaps even the apartment – he blurted out, “What you and John had…it was rare, special, you know that, right?”

I heaved a sigh.  _Here we go_. “John was John.”

Freddie chuckled, unable to hide the smirk that crawled onto his face as he murmured, “Yeah. As they say, _parce que c'était lui; parce que c'était moi._ ”

“What?”

He laughed once again, meeting my flustered gaze and translating, “ _Because it was him; because it was me._ It’s this old French saying I remember someone telling me way back when. ‘Something about if you ask me why I loved him, I can only say it’s because he was he, and I was I. It just made me think of…you know.”

I shook my head and brought the cigarette back up into my lips, taking a long drag and letting it out slowly as I dropped my head to the side and stared at the threshold separating the living room from the kitchen, where Brian was keeping himself occupied. I could see from where I lied the teapot on the stove, and the blue flames underneath it. I could hear the crackling of the fire as it heated the kettle, accompanied by the clinking of dishes as Brian tackled the porcelain mountain that developed in our sink while John and I were gone. I began to lose myself in the white noise, much like I had the night before in the hotel room, when Freddie brought me back to earth with the comment of, “He was good. John, I mean. And you are too, whether you think so or not.”

I kept quiet for a moment or two, letting his words sink in before retorting sullenly, “I think he was better than me.”

Fred chuckled, taking another drag of his own cigarette and replying, “I’m sure he would’ve said the same thing about you.”

I scoffed.

Another moment of silence passed over the two of us before the singer cleared his throat and began, “You know, Rog, I may not be the person you want to talk to about this, but…I’m here for you. Brian and I both are.”

I held a blank stare with him, wishing I'd done something the second Freddie announced he wanted to talk with me alone. I could’ve objected. I could’ve stopped Brian from getting up, making it clear that I didn’t want to be left alone with him; that I just wanted to lie there with the two of them and wait for the storms to pass, both literal and metaphorical. For fuck's sake, I could've left while he was making the tear in our sofa worse. Yet there I found myself, in the midst of something I wasn’t prepared for, something I didn’t sign up for, and I couldn’t get away.

“You know, you’re quite lucky to have found each other…all thanks to me, of course.” I rolled my eyes and turned my head again, refusing to acknowledge the smirk that curled the corner of his lips upward before he went on to say, “But…what the two of you had…it was a wonderful friendship, maybe something more, and I understand you may not want to feel anything. Hell, you may have never wanted to feel anything, but feel something, you obviously did. And I envy you, you know. Hard to believe since, well, you’re you and I’m me—”

“Hey!” I snapped, his remark jerking my head back his way, along with an offended look on my face, “What’s the supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he dismissed my question, waving his hand and continuing, “What I’m trying to get at, though, Rog, is that…you’re lucky. Most people hope that things like this will just go away and pray that you’ll come back and land on your feet, but…I’m not one of those people.

“We sacrifice so much of ourselves just to feel normal, like we’re doing the right thing, that by the time we’re older and our years are behind us, we’ve got nothing left to offer. Each person gets less and less of you, and so to make yourself feel nothing, so as to not to feel anything, that’s such a fucking waste.” He glanced down and over at me, a sadness in his eyes that I couldn’t bear to look away from.

I’d never heard something like this from Freddie before, especially directed towards me. Our relationship had always been one of back and forth, a sort of you-bother-me-and-I-bother-you deal that always ended in sharing a drink or a drag and putting aside our differences to enjoy one another’s company. However, it’d never gotten to this point before, where we were both so vulnerable, so open with one another. It was a bit scary, in all honesty, scarier than my feelings for John were when I was first faced with them.

“Have I said too much?” Freddie inquired when I didn’t respond to him, adrift in a world of my own. I snapped back into reality and subtly shook my head no, prompting him to wrap up his long, oddly endearing speech. “I just want to say one more thing, then. I may have come close, but I’ve never had what you and John have. Be grateful you shared something so beautiful, because something always held me back…or stood in the way.

“And as much as I’d like to, because god knows you don’t know what the _fuck_ you’re doing, I can’t tell you how to live your life. All I can tell you is that we only have one heart and one body, and before you know it…your heart’s worn out and your body…well, I hate to break it you, darling, but your looks aren’t going to last forever. At some point, no one’s going to want to look at you, let alone come near you.”

“Oh, that makes me feel _so_ much better, Freddie,” I snarled, sitting up from my lying position and moving to the opposite end of the couch where Brian previously sat.

“Look, I’m just saying that right now, you’re hurting, and you’re in pain,” he stressed, trying to save himself and keep me from running off like he anticipated me to, “But don’t you dare drown that pain out in booze and drugs like I know you want to, babe, because if you kill that pain, you’re going to kill the joy that came with it too.”

The world around me started to blur for the second time that day as his words rung in my ears. I blinked away the tears that distorted my vision and sniffled, biting my lip and asking, “Do you think Brian knows?”

The singer laughed, as if my question was absurd. “Well of course he knows, darling. He was the one to tell me about your little crush on Deaky. His on you, too.”

I smirked, shaking my head. “No, Fred, I-I knew that. I meant about you. Does he know about you?”

I half-expected to already know the response to what I was asking, for Brian and I had an inkling about it for a while now. We just never spoke with him about it; there wasn’t a need to. But Freddie had just hinted at it himself, and I needed to make sure I wasn’t hearing things or misinterpreting them, since not understanding things seemed to be my newest flaw.

His face gradually fell, and an uncharacteristic awkwardness washed over him, dominating his brash personality. His reaction was enough of an answer for me, but he dropped his head and shrugged his shoulders, mumbling, “No, I don’t think he does.” He hesitantly met my gaze after a short pause and flashed me a small grin that let me know that that’s what he was telling himself, that he knew the guitarist was aware of his situation but wasn’t ready to admit it yet. I returned the grin, knowing exactly how he felt.

“Hey, you two haven’t killed each other in there, have you?” Brian called out from the kitchen, where he still was hiding out, “I-I'm not hearing anything, and it worries me!”

“Oh, stop being such a drag, Bri. We’re fine!” Freddie shouted back to him, shooting me one of his biggest smiles and punching me playfully in the arm. I couldn’t help but smile back, returning the favor by doing the same to him.

The water shut off and the clink of the final dish as it was set in the drainboard echoed through the apartment, followed by Brian’s footsteps as he made his way to the threshold and leaned against it, rubbing his hands with a ratty towel. “Okay then, Mr. We’re-Fine. Have you told him about the album yet?”

“The album? What about it?” I asked, concernedly eyeing the two of them when neither of them spoke up. “Well?” I yelled, waving my hands theatrically in an attempt to get one of them to answer me, “What about it?”


	26. Chapter 26

Brian and Freddie took turns explaining to me what had happened the week John and I were away. Although they’d tweaked the songs and recorded the last of what was missing, the album still wasn’t to their liking, nor was it to our managers’. The pair of brothers had granted us two weeks to fix the album before they were going to put it out as is, giving us no other choice than to cross our fingers and hope that, once it was released, the public took well to it. If not, we were done for and all our hard work would have been for nothing.

To make matters worse, we got a letter from our landlord last week too. We were months behind on rent, and since we “refused to acknowledge any and all of her warnings” – none of which any of us remember receiving – she was kicking us out at the end of the month, which conveniently coincided with when we were expected to have the album completed by.

The problem was, we were almost completely out of money, and it boiled down to a matter of having to decide between paying for more studio sessions or giving our landlord all that we had to try and convince her to let us stay. The three of us spent an entire day arguing over which course of action to take, but by the end of it, Freddie had convinced Brian and me that if we stuck with the album, it would help us out in the long run. “After all, it’s not like we’re making money from living here,” he said.

I knew we shouldn’t have listened to him, because when the end of the month rolled around, we found ourselves homeless, hungry, and exhausted. The three of us had practically become permanent residents at Trident Studios after hours, since it was the cheapest to book then. We stayed up all night trying to get the album to perfection, but something just wasn’t working. The other two couldn’t quite seem to understand what was missing, but I knew. I knew exactly what it was missing – John.

John’s absence was an awful, constant reminder of what I’d lost, and I wanted nothing more than to forget about it, but then I would remember what Freddie said to me. _Don’t you dare drown that pain out in booze and drugs like I know you want to, babe, because if you kill that pain, you’re going to kill the joy that accompanied it too._ Normally I wouldn’t take Freddie’s advice - seeing as he was a hypocrite and didn't practice what he preached - but for some reason, that sentiment stuck with me. Some days were harder than others, but his words kept me going (though I’d never admit it to him; he's already cocky enough).

Brian also kept me going, surprising me with my song, kinks worked out and everything done except for the drums so that, by the time I came back, it was all we had to add. He had taken care of the bass part himself, which of course didn’t sound as good as it would have had John done it, but it wasn’t bad. In fact, the song sounded better than I ever could’ve imagined; the tight hug I gave him and the tears that fell onto his shirt after I listened to it for the first time were involuntary. He chuckled, as if my reaction was unjustified, but nevertheless, he hugged me back just as tightly. He even gave me a kiss on the head, telling me he’s glad I liked it.

The moment of truth weighed down on us as we found ourselves in the brothers’ office, listening to the entire record and biting our nails as we awaited their opinion. When the album ended with Freddie’s piano bit, a song he’d been working on called “Seven Seas of Rhye” that wasn’t quite finished yet, they turned to us and – to our relief – said it wasn’t the worst they’d heard and that they thought it was release-ready. (This was all after one of them commented on our disheveled appearance, and the other joined in, joking that he hoped our album wasn’t as bad as we looked.)

Brian, Freddie, and I assumed we were off the hook. Everything was finally falling into place for us. The album was finished, we moved into another flat – thanks to the early cut that the Sheffield brothers gave us for finishing the album – and the stress that weighed down on us before had significantly lessened, no deadlines looming in our near future except for rent. Granted, things weren't perfect. They never seemed to be, and our new living arrangement reminded us of that. With only a single bedroom the three of us were forced to share and barely any room for our instruments, we exchanged our sleepless nights in the studio to sleepless nights at home, filled with petty arguments that ended with at least one thing thrown out the window and one us moving to the couch. Regardless, we all agreed it was better than having no home at all, or worse, having to move back in with our parents.

However, our relief was premature. The Sheffield brothers couldn't seem to find a record label to release our album under. Months went by with no word from them, and it didn’t take long for us to start to lose hope. Our bank accounts were practically dust, and we needed the money from that album desperately.

We’d tried reaching out to our managers on several occasions, but after so many unanswered calls, Brian suggested we give it a break, claiming that the brothers were probably busy and that they’d get back to us as soon as they found us a deal. Freddie and I weren’t too eager to accept that kind of defeat, but it wasn’t like we had any other choice. What else were we going to do? Release the album ourselves? We couldn’t afford that; we could barely afford to have one meal a day. Not to mention the fact that those two morons had our album under lock and key; there’s no way we could even get to it.

So, to make ends meet, the three of us broke off and found other means of support. Brian picked up a temporary teaching gig, and Freddie and I returned to our little stall in Kensington Market. The days dragged on at an agonizingly slow pace, but before I knew it, Christmas had come and gone, a new year was upon us, and the snow that had blanketed the city was beginning to melt, leaving splotches of dirty, ugly snow scattered about the streets. It was a dreary sight that didn’t do much to lift my deflated spirits.

One day, the three of us were hanging out in Freddie’s and my store. Freddie was dressing the mannequins in the windows, Brian was planning one of his lessons, and I was standing behind the counter, hunched over and working on John’s song that he’d gifted to me.

For the longest time, I didn’t even realize he’d slipped it into my bag before we left the hotel that nightmare of a day, but when I finally got around to emptying the old thing, his notebook fell out on top of my wrinkled clothes ridden with the stench of alcohol, sweat, and sex. I almost immediately threw it in the dresser Brian, Freddie, and I were forced to share and refused to look at it for the longest time, unwilling to relive that horrific week, but after so many months, the thought of tackling the piece didn’t upset me as much. Besides, the song still managed to get a laugh out of me, and not much did these days.

Just then, the stall’s phone began to ring. I glanced over at it but stayed in place, swaying my hips side to side and glancing over at Brian with pursed lips. He slowly met my gaze, his eyebrows knitting together as he wondered why I was looking at him so weird. I batted my eyelashes and clasped my hands underneath my chin, flashing him my biggest grin, to which he rolled his eyes and returned to the papers he had scattered about the other end of the counter. I scoffed and the smile on my face turned into a frown, my attention returning to John’s song.

“Oh, will someone pick up the goddamn phone already?” Freddie shouted at us from across the small room as the phone continued to ring, too invested in fixing a colorful, patchwork scarf around the mannequin’s neck. “It could be important!”

“Yeah, Brian, pick up the goddamn phone, it could be important,” I sneered, narrowing my eyes at the guitarist who didn’t hesitate to shoot the look right back at me.

“Yeah, but I don’t work here,” he replied, his tone calm but spiteful, “It isn't my phone to answer.”

Sometimes I wondered if his caustic arrogance was intentional, as if he wanted to remind me that he didn’t need the band like Freddie and I did. After all, he had a promising teaching career ahead of him. What did we have? A shop that was losing us more money than it cost to run it?

I stuck my tongue out at him before grudgingly dragging myself over to the phone that sat in between the two of us and pulling it off the receiver. I held it up to my ear and greeted with a noticeable sigh, “Hello?”

_“Roger?”_

My heart nearly stopped hearing that voice – that awkward, one-of-a-kind, easily recognizable voice. I almost forgot how to speak, I was so awestruck.

 _“You there?”_ it sounded again.

“Hi,” I managed to spit out, gripping onto the phone as if my life depended on it. Both Freddie and Brian looked my way.

 _“Hey,”_ John replied, a soft chuckle following his response.

“H-How are you?” I stammered, cautiously eyeing the other two men in the store as they lurked towards me, curious to see who was on the other end of the line.

_“I’m good…I’m good. How are you?”_

“I’m good,” I repeated him, the beating in my chest growing faster and faster with each step the singer and the guitarist took towards me. I didn’t know why my nerves were starting to heighten; it’s not like I was afraid of them, or of them finding out that it was John who’d called. After all, he was their friend too. Maybe, deep down though, I wanted this moment to be between just the two of us, because there were so many things that I wanted to say to him, things I would never say in front of the singer or guitarist. They weren't idiots, they knew how I felt about John, but that wouldn't stop them from humiliating me about it if I confessed it to him. I mean, thank god they weren’t on the trip. 

_“How are Freddie and Brian?”_ the bassist inquired, probably just out of courtesy – or at least, that’s what I told myself to keep the illusion going; to keep thinking that John wanted to speak with only me too.

“They’re fine,” I answered bluntly, the two men in question standing by my side and in front of me. I felt like the two of them were walls closing in, and my response only made them even more interested in the conversation. Selfishly taking the phone and receiver into my possession, I brought them into the small room behind the counter, closing the door behind me and falling against it. Once the door clicked into place, I slid down the jagged surface – penetrated by the ghosts of nails and staples – until I hit the floor, holding the receiver in my lap and the phone up to my ear and murmuring, “I miss you.”

There was a long pause, and for a moment I worried that, in my haste to get away from Brian and Freddie, I’d cut our connection. However, a low voice whispered through the speaker, replying, _“I miss you too.”_

I couldn’t contain the smile that my lips formed into upon hearing his words. I began to twist the phone cord around my finger, continuing just as quiet as he, “So, when are you coming back?”

Silence crackled over the line, and I never realized how deafening silence could be. I thought that term was only reserved for shows and the crowd’s response, but that's the only way I could describe it. _Deafening._

 _“Hey, have you guys put out the album yet?”_ John blurted out, trying to breathe life into the conversation that was slowly but surely dying, _“I’ve been listening to the radio, you know, waiting for them say ‘And here with their newest single, Queen!’”_ He laughed at his imitation of a broadcaster, and I did too, but it felt forced, unnatural. _This_ was unnatural. _“Maybe you could send me an early copy of it?”_

I chuckled sadly at his request, thinking about how there were no early copies - not any that we had, at least - and how hopeless the album seemed at this point.  However, I had too much pride to admit that to him, and so instead, I answered, “Sure, John. I’d love to.”

 _“Will I get to hear the song you wrote about me?”_ he whispered, his voice quiet but clear, as though his hand was cupped around the bottom half of the phone so that only I would hear him. Or maybe it was to disguise the smirk that appeared on his face at the sheer thought of a song dedicated to him being on an actual album.

My cheeks burned in embarrassment, not that he or the other two whose ears were pressed against the opposite side of the door could see. “Yeah, you will.”

_“That’s amazing. I-I can’t wait to hear it.”_

Another pause interrupted our conversation, this one longer than the last. Neither of us knew what to say to one another, and I began to wonder why he called. None of us, as far as I knew, had heard anything from him since the day he left. There were no calls, no postcards, nothing. That might have had to do with the fact that we moved, and that we had to change our number despite keeping the same phone (thanks to Brian prying the old thing off our previous flat’s wall and throwing it in one of our boxes before we were kicked out; his own little “fuck you” to our landlord for “screwing us over,” as he explained over a bottle of beer one night), but he could’ve tried harder. It was like he just disappeared, vanished into thin air, only to return months later by way of a disembodied voice over the phone.

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat and parted my lips to speak, but no words came out. John seemed to sense my internal dilemma and took the nervous weight off my shoulders, announcing,  _“So, erm, I have, uh, some news to share with you.”_

I gasped, thinking this was the moment I’d been waiting for, the moment he would tell me how he regretted leaving me and was coming back soon. I couldn’t lead my excitement on, though, so I swallowed the eagerness that made my heart flutter and replied as calmly as I could, “News? What is it?”  

_“Humpy Bong’s got a record deal. We start recording our first album in a few weeks! Isn’t that exciting?”_

My heart sunk, and my stomach twisted into knots. Before I could even try to think of something to say, not that I had anything _to_ say, a third voice joined the conversation by exclaiming, _“Oh, congratulations, darling!”_

 _“Yes, that’s wonderful!”_ a fourth voice chimed in, “ _We’re so proud of you, John.”_

 _“Thank you, thank you,”_ John replied to the other two who’d somehow joined the conversation with a slight chuckle.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance. The two of them were a bunch of liars, or at least Freddie was. He didn’t show it, but I know he was just as upset about John leaving as I was. He had to be. I mean, after his whole speech, there was no way I was the only one who felt particularly close to the bassist. He missed him just as much as I did, yet there he was, congratulating him on finding success with the enemy.

 _“You know, we’ve been thinking about who we’re going to choose to be the new you when we start touring,”_ Freddie gushed, _“We're worried we won't be able to find someone who can play bass and fuck Roger as quietly as you did. I mean, I barely heard the two of you most of the time.”_

“Oh, would you two sod off?” I interjected, the vexation evident in my voice, “How’d you even get on this call? I thought you were…” My voice trailed off as I looked over my shoulder at the door, no longer hearing their snickers or whispers from before.

 _“We’re in the bathroom, dear,”_ the singer answered.

Without even being there with them – not that I would’ve wanted to anyways, because two guys in a single bathroom was already strange enough, and three would just be suspicious – I could see the big grin on his face as he looked over Brian, the latter shaking his head in disappointment at his friend’s immaturity before explaining, _“Yeah, ‘don’t know why we have a phone in here, but—”_

_“Remember? Rog had maintenance to put it in here for when we ran out of—”_

“Get off!” I snapped.

 _“Okay, okay,”_ the guitarist replied, and I could see him raise his hand in a calming way, as if that would help over the phone, _“We’ll leave you two to finish up.”_

 _“Oh, but I—”_ the singer began to whine when Brian cut him short.

_“Good luck with the album, John; we can’t wait to hear it!”_

A click sounded across the line, and I rested my head back against the door, closing my eyes as silence fizzled over the speaker. I bit my lip and brought my free hand up to my forehead, muttering, “They know about us.”

 _“I figured_ ,” he mumbled.

“When are you coming back, John?” I asked him again, my throat closing and bitter tears building in my eyes. I needed an answer. I needed him to give me a date, a time, anything, but instead, he said nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

After receiving no response for what felt like ages, I scratched behind my head and began to ramble in a frantic attempt to get him to speak, “You know, we’ve already started working on another album. Maybe you could come back and play with us for it. W-We could even try to get your song on it! I’ve been working on it some more, and…and I really think Brian and Freddie will like it. You can take credit for it, though, all of it! It’s yours!”

 _Way over the top,_ I thought to myself as that dreaded silence filled my ears for what felt like the thousandth time and warm tears began to roll down my cheeks.

Finally, his slow, deep breath tickled my ear through the speaker. _“Rog, I don't know, I—”_

“John, please,” I begged, unable to keep my front up any longer. “You don’t belong with them. You belong here, with us. We need you. _I_ need you. Things…Things haven’t felt right ever since you left. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I-I can’t even play the drums right without you. Please, come home. I love you.”

Again, my words were met with silence.

I sniffled and placed the phone down in the receiver, ending the call that went on for too long, yet not long enough, and staring at the device in my lap with stinging eyes. This was what I’d been waiting months for, for John to realize what a mistake he’d made and to come back to us, but he didn't seem to feel that way at all.

Maybe he did belong with them.

 _Traitor_.


	27. Chapter 27

Months went by with no other word from John. However, we did hear from the Sheffield brothers with news they finally found a label to release our album under. I should’ve been excited, ecstatic even, but not even the fact that all our hard work had paid off could take me out of the slump I’d fallen into after the disappointing call with John. I thought about it day and night, analyzing the conversation from beginning to end, trying to determine where it went wrong, where I lost him for good, but I couldn’t figure it out.

I didn’t have time to, because the album release threw the three of us into a whirlwind. Magazines and newspapers – both local and international – requested interviews, venues that weren’t college gymnasiums wanted to book us for shows, and the public asked with every chance they could get for pictures and autographs. I was forced to put a smile on; to joke around and revisit my old, cocky, arrogant self, which was difficult because I hadn’t had to play that role in a long time. The sheer fact that I viewed it as a role spoke for itself. I’d changed, and although it was almost necessary, going back to the way things were before seemed impossible.

Having truly lost my reason to do pretty much anything, I began to wither away, engaging in the exact opposite of what Freddie told me to, despite his sentiment that – not too long ago – motivated me and pushed me to keep going. If I wasn’t drinking, I was smoking, and if I wasn’t smoking, I was drinking, or trying to get my hands on something stronger. It surprised me how easy stuff like that was to find now that the band was on the rise. All I had to do was ask, and two or three people would extend their hands out to me or invite me to follow them back to their place.

I didn’t care, but I knew Freddie and Brian disapproved of my behavior. Their not-so-subtle eye rolls, their late-night chats with me like they were my parents and I was their child, and their infuriated searches for me whenever I disappeared from their sides said it all. I couldn’t see straight most of the time, and coherent thoughts became a foreign concept. Shades disguised the bags underneath my eyes, and Freddie and Brian masked my inability to understand a single interviewer’s question by diverting anything directed towards me back to them or the album. All they had me do was smile and wave, which worked out well most of the time, but I could tell they were getting frustrated with the situation I’d put them in, especially as the tour the brothers had scheduled for us drew nearer.

“Come on, Roger,” Brian muttered, pulling at the blanket I had tightly wrapped around me, “Get up.”

I murmured something incomprehensible under my breath and buried my face into the couch cushion. The light shining through the window gave me a headache, and Brian’s voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. I grabbed onto the blanket and pulled it over my head, only for the guitarist to laugh at my pathetic attempt in hiding.

“Nice try, Rog, but…” he yanked the covering away from me, the torn and tattered cloth that didn’t do much to keep me warm betraying me in the worst way possible as it dropped me to the sticky hardwood floor like I meant nothing to it, “…we have that audition today.” I groaned in pain as I rolled over and glared up at the giant towering over me, his twig-thin arms crossed over his flat, almost caved-in chest. “And you have to be there with us.”

“Why? What good is me being there gonna do?” I snapped, my voice hoarse and my throat feeling like sandpaper. “I don’t fucking care who plays bass with us on tour; I’ve told you that a thousand times already!”

“Well, for the thousand and first time, Roger, we’re not making this decision without you,” he replied, nudging me in the side with his foot, “Now clean yourself up. No one’s going to want to play with us if you’re looking like you just rolled out of bed.”

“I didn’t just roll out of bed!” I shouted after him as he walked away, sinking into the bedroom hallway that Freddie emerged from just a second before, “I rolled out of the couch! And…And it’s the thousand and one-th time, not the thousand and first!”

The singer scoffed, staring at me from across the room and adjusting the collar of the black and white floral jacket he’d thrown on. “Say that again, darling. I dare you.”

“Piss off!” I spat at him, tossing the blanket off me and struggling to get up from the ground. I latched onto the couch and coffee table I was pinned between like my life depended on it, one hand on each, but I didn’t have the strength to lift myself up.  

“Oh, dear,” Freddie grumbled pitifully as he rolled his eyes and crossed the room to pick me up off the floor, setting me on my feet and grasping my upper arms to steady me. The hangover tugged at the ground beneath me, making it near impossible for me to stand on my own, and my face scrunched up at the sudden change in my surroundings.

Freddie frowned at me and reached over, while keeping one hand on me, to grab my sunglasses from the coffee table. He shoved them into my chest and I nearly stumbled back trying to grab them, the singer heaving a sigh before he said, “Just don’t make this as miserable as last time, Rog, alright? That’s all I ask.”

“What do you mean?” I grumbled, slipping the shades on my face and instantly feeling a bit better.

“I _mean_ , there’s only room for one drama queen in this band, so get back to being you.” He shoved his finger into my chest, eliciting a pained gasp from me. “At least for today, okay? Then you can go back to acting like your life is over because some guy broke your heart to a million pieces.”

I folded my arms uncomfortably over my chest, hoping to prevent any further jabs, and muttered, “I can already tell you I’m not going to like any of them.”

“You don’t even know who’s going to be there, love.”

I narrowed my eyes at his remark. He sounded just like Brian. No wonder – they spent nearly every waking moment of their lives together now that things were picking back up for us. It was like they didn’t even need me. _Maybe they should be auditioning for a new drummer too_.

“Precisely,” Brian interjected, returning to the front room while fixing a tie around his neck. He tightened the accessory and met my gaze, wordlessly chastising me for still standing there and not being ready to go.

My shaded gaze flickered between the two of them, anger building up inside of me as I grew resentful of them and how well they were handling everything, all because they had each other. Who did I have? No one, that’s who.

“You know what?” I shouted, earning a raised eyebrow from Brian and a tut from Freddie, who looked over at the guitarist as if to say _Here he goes again_. “This is stupid! Everything! This tour, this audition…”

“We need a bassist, Roger,” Brian explained to me.

“We _had_ a bassist, Brian,” I snarled in return, “His name was John, and we all know we’re not Queen without him, so why don’t we just give up the act and call it quits? Save everyone the time and trouble of going to this stupid thing and tell Barry and Norm that it’s over?”

The singer and guitarist stared at me with saddened eyes that supplied the responses their lips didn’t. The two of them weren’t ready to admit it, but I was right. They were too stubborn to give up pretending like everything was okay, that John never happened, and that, with this audition, we were going to find the bassist that completed our band. What they didn’t seem to understand was that we already found that bassist, and without him, we were bound to fail. Why keep kidding ourselves?

I let out a frustrated sigh and plopped back down on the edge of the couch, resting my arms on my knees and sniffling. “I mean, who knows when we’re going to see him or hear from him again?” I chuckled sadly as I thought about the answer to that question. “We can’t keep waiting around for him to come back, because he’s just not. He’s clearly fucking moved on, and we should too. This isn’t going to work without him; it never was.”

The defeat in my voice silently brought the singer and the guitarist to the couch with me, each one taking a side. I was too upset to revel in the fact that for once they listened to me, too paranoid that maybe they were just waiting out the episode so they could nudge me in the arm and tell me that we were running late and needed to get going. Regardless, a heavy tension formed among us as my embittered words lingered in the air.

Brian took in a deep breath and placed his hand on my thigh, attracting my hateful gaze from behind the dark tinted lenses. “You’re right, Rog. We can’t keep waiting around for him to come back.” I straightened my posture ever so slightly, and the corner of my lip perked up into a smirk, grateful someone finally saw where I was coming from. “That’s why we have to go to this audition.” My small burst of confidence instantly faded at his words, and I slumped back onto the couch, crossing my arms over my chest and staring angrily at the small hole in the wall near the floor across the room, big enough for a mouse. “Come on, Rog, we can’t give up now. We’re finally onto something good, I feel it! Freddie does too. Right, Fred?”

“I just want to see if I can snag _me_ a man this time,” the singer replied cheekily, grinning at the guitarist who wasn’t amused by his playful response at all. He tutted. “Oh, lighten up, dear. Of course, I think we’re onto something good. I wouldn’t have put up with this bloke for so long if I didn’t.” He pinched my shoulder, earning a smack on the arm from me. He raised his hand to return the favor when Brian stuck his arm in between the two of us, preventing him from continuing the fight that would’ve gone on all day had he not intervened.

“Enough, you two,” he warned, his voice low and terse. He shifted his gaze solely to me and asked, “Now, Rog, can you please get dressed and brush your hair? I don’t think John would want you moping around like this.”

“You don’t know what John would want,” I growled venomously.

“Well he certainly wouldn’t want to kiss you with breath like that, dear,” Freddie sneered, waving his hand in front of his nose for added effect. I smacked his hand away and stood up from in between the two men dying from the bout of laughter the darker-haired one brought upon them, grunting before making my way to the bathroom and pushing through the nausea that worsened with each step I took. When I reached my destination, I collapsed on the tiled floor, hugged the toilet, and expelled every drink I’d downed the night prior into the porcelain bowl.

_This was going to be a long day._

*****

“Well this has been a bust,” Brian murmured under his breath as he looked down at the list of names set out in front of him, staring at all the names crossed out. More than twenty bassists had signed up, but it felt like there were nearly fifty that showed. I guess people’s ears pricked up at the name _Queen_ , making them think they had a chance of being part of something big.

I wanted to warn them before they got their hopes up that we weren’t going anywhere; that they’d be better off trying to get in with _Humpy Bong_ , but Freddie and Brian silenced me before I could get the chance with a bottle of vodka. “To keep you from throwing up again,” they claimed, “To tide you over until after the auditions are over with,” but I knew they really just didn’t want me dismissing every bassist that stepped on stage before they could even play for us. Smart move on their part, I guess, because I was ready to say no to each and every audition regardless of who they were or how well they did. I’d even thought about all the different ways I could say it, ranging from the simple two-letter word to a long-winded, contrived-from-bullshit explanation as to why I didn’t think they were a good fit.

There were so many auditions, though, that I wondered if I had enough different ways to reject them, because they all sucked.  

There was Josh who played the slowest rendition of the Liar solo I’d ever heard, and Christian who was interested in playing with us but thought we should change our name to something a little less – as he so kindly put it – gay.

There was Chad whose hair went down to the middle of his back and kept getting in his face while he played, making him pull both hands away from the instrument to fix it every time, and Brent who thought the audition was an AA meeting, pointing at me for reference even though we were at a recording studio and not some church or bingo hall.

There were Richard, Matt, and Bill, all of whom were so boring and so uninteresting that I only remembered their names for that sole reason.

Then there was Adam, who was alright, I suppose. He played well, he knew our songs by heart, his singing range was comparable to Freddie’s, and he winked at the singer before he walked out of the room, instantly winning his vote. The problem was that he was too good, and knowing Brian, that was going to be a problem. I could see it in his eyes as he tried his best to listen to Freddie gush about how far we could get with Adam as our fourth member.

“I really think he’s the one!” Freddie proclaimed, attracting my lazy gaze while narrowing Brian’s.

“I really don’t think he is, Fred,” the guitarist disagreed, his sympathy and concern for other’s feelings not as believable as it usually was.

“I told you this was a waste of time,” I interjected, my voice a low rumble as I twiddled my thumbs in my lap, leaning far back in the chair and glaring at the empty glass bottle sitting in front of me on the table.

“Well, we’ve got one more on the list,” Brian announced, willfully ignoring my comment as he picked the scribbled piece of paper up and read off the final name loud enough for whoever was still lingering in the corridor outside of the small studio the Sheffield brothers had set us up in to hear. “John?”

The name immediately struck a wrong chord in me; I couldn’t fathom having another John in the band. It was too much for me to handle. “No,” I sternly objected, jumping up from my chair and feverishly shaking my head, “No, we are _not_ having another John in this band. You audition this guy and I quit. I-I mean it.”

“Roger, come on,” the guitarist muttered, his exhaustion from the drawn-out day evident in his defeated plea.

“Believe it or not, I actually agree with the blonde,” Freddie replied, earning a surprised look from Brian and confused one from me. _There had to be more to his siding with me_ , I thought, _he_ never _sided with me._ As predicted, though, his true intentions revealed themselves as he justified his remark with a smirk and the sly comment of, “I already think we’ve found our guy. It’s—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Freddie,” Brian groaned, bringing an irritated hand up to his forehead and heaving a frustrated sigh, “Enough with Adam! Alright? He was good, I’ll give him that, but he’s not what we’re—”

Just then, the sound of someone tapping the microphone interrupted our escalating conversation and drew our attention to the other side of the room. There, standing behind the mic stand and next to the amp with his bass strapped over his chest and hanging low by his waist, was John – our John, _my_ John.

“Are you ready for me?” he spoke into the microphone, sending a screeching echo through the speakers that intensified my headache. I tore my sunglasses off my face, disregarding the sharp pain that emanated in the center of my forehead and staring at the frizzy, long-haired man standing all by himself across the room in awe. The other two fell to the same fate as me, struck completely speechless. He grinned, as if he was anticipating that kind of reaction from us, and cleared his throat, saying, “Uh, hi. My name is John Richard Deacon. I was born on August the 19th, 1951—”

“What are you doing here, John?” Brian cut him short, sitting forward and clasping his hands together on top of the list that seemed pointless now.

“Well, I heard Queen was holding auditions for a new bassist,” he answered, a concern washing over him as he looked at the door and then back at us, “I’m in the correct room, yeah?”

“You bitch,” I sneered, jumping over the table and approaching the bassist who could only smile at me. His dumb smile didn’t last very long, though, my hand colliding with his cheek in a fit of rage that neither Freddie nor Brian could’ve held back. The smack resonated through the room and probably the hall too, the bassist’s head jerking to the side and my chest rising up and down at a rapid, uneven pace.

The singer and guitarist’s chairs skid across the floor as they rounded the table, wanting to intervene, but they didn’t dare come any closer to the two of us as John turned his head back to me and cradled his stinging cheek with his hand, murmuring, “Well, hello to you too, Rog.”

“What do you think you’re doing here?” I shouted at him, tears already building in my eyes the longer I looked at him, “You think you can just walk in here and act like everything’s normal? Like you didn’t hang up on me after saying I love you?”

“I didn’t know he did that,” Freddie whispered under his breath, receiving a swift hit on the arm from Brian. “Ouch!” he yelped, returning the favor. If it were me in that situation, the petty slap-war would’ve gone on for much longer, but since it was Brian, he took the blow and said nothing more, crossing his arms over his chest and averting his attention to John and me.

“I know, and…and I’m sorry,” John apologized, lowering his hand down to his side and resting it on his hip, along with the other one, “I really am. If you’d—”

“Did you hear that guys?” I screamed, the alcohol coursing through my veins dramatically turning me on my heels and throwing my hands out to the sides. “He’s sorry! He really is!”

John dropped his hand down on my shoulder and spun me around to face him, giving me no time to retaliate before he latched onto my shirt, pulled me close to him, and crashed his lips right into mine. It was hard not to instantly melt into the moment, the kiss being something I’d longed for since the second that van turned the corner all those months ago.

As our lips danced in a gradual, gracefully sloppy lust and my hands found their way to his hips, attempting to eliminate any and all the space still separating us, all the pent-up anger and resentment I’d been holding onto started to dissipate, the world around us fading away like it did that night up on the roof. It was only when I heard Freddie mumble “So much for finding _me_ a guy” and Brian’s scolding whisper of “Freddie!” that I was brought back to reality, pulling myself away from John and slapping him across the face again.

“No!” I yelled, watching as he recoiled from my attack, rubbing his jaw to alleviate the returning pain, “Y-You’re not going to do this! I hate you!” My cheeks turned a bright shade of red, knowing that I didn’t mean what I was saying.

He sighed, frustrated eyes glancing up at mine. “And you have every right to, Rog, but if you’d just—”

“Just what, John?” I snapped.

“Oh, would you let him finish his sentence, Roger?” the guitarist behind me chimed in, attracting a slow glare. He threw his hand in the bassist’s direction. “He’s trying to apologize to you.”

“Well, I don’t want his apology!” I defiantly cried, folding my arms over my chest and returning my attention to John, “I begged him not do what he did. I _begged_ him, and he _still_ left me. He shouldn’t be able to just walk back in here and have things go back to the way they were. That’s not how it works.”

“But this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Brian asked, shaking his head in scornful disappointment, “You wanted John back, and now he’s here, so could you stop being a prick and hear what he has to say?”

“Fine.” I raised my eyebrows, wordlessly inviting John to speak.

He cleared his throat and placed his hand on the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly as he stuttered, “I-I just wanted to say that…that I made a mistake leaving you, and, erm, I…I was hoping that, if you haven’t already chosen someone else for your bassist, you’d take me back.”

He looked up at me with his pitiful green eyes, waiting for my answer. All he received from me, though, was a blank stare, that unfortunately familiar dizzying feeling taking over my entire body.

“What happened to Humpy Bong, John?” the guitarist questioned, a genuine and nonjudgmental interest to his inquiry.

The bassist shifted his gaze over my shoulder to Brian, answering with a slightly amused grin and a casual shrug of his shoulders, “Oh, you know, it just wasn’t a good fit…for Tim, at least.”

“For Tim?” Freddie repeated, his hand resting on his chest as if the news was shocking.

John nodded his head in affirmation and crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, you guys didn’t hear? He left us for another band.”

I snickered under my breath, the corner of my lip perking up into a smirk. I couldn’t believe it. That son of a bitch did it again, and chances were he gave those losers the same reason he gave us. _I’ve gotta give it a go. They’re going places. We’re not going anywhere with this._ I could’ve told him that while on their little week-long tour, but he probably wouldn’t have listened to me because the last time I checked with him, Humpy Bong was going places. I guess not anymore. Now it was some other band, and next it would be another. The irony tasted too sweet.

“Well, I for one would love to have you on tour with us,” Brian said, smiling at John before his attention flickered between Freddie and me. “What about you two?”

The singer scoffed. “I mean, I wanted _Adam_ to join the band, but…” he looked at John and the sour look on his face disappeared, “…I guess if I had to choose between the two, I’d choose John. He is one of a kind, after all. Got Rog right out of his dry spell.” Brian raised his hand to smack him on the arm, which he countered with an admonitory finger. “Hit me again and I’ll change my mind.” The guitarist rolled his eyes and begrudgingly tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants, averting his gaze to the far corner of the room in avoidance of the daggers Freddie mentally shot at him.

“So, what do you say, Rog?” John asked, his voice low and his hands intertwining with mine. I went to rip them away when he tightened his grip on them, refusing to let me go again. “Will you take me back?”

I looked down at our hands and swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. I wanted to be mad at him, I really did. He’d betrayed me in the worst way possible. He stole my heart and broke it, not once, but twice. How could I forgive him for that?

“I-I don’t know, John,” I murmured, running my thumb across the back of his hand, “I…We’ll have to think about it.”

“What if I told you I love you?” he blurted out, a sly grin stretching across his face.

I slowly and cautiously met his gaze, finding it even harder to stay mad at him. “You can’t really think that you saying that to me now is going to make everything okay,” I retorted, my voice strained as I tried to keep up my strong, stubborn front, “You had your chance on the phone.”

“Yes, I did, but it didn’t feel right over the phone. I wanted to see the look in your eyes when I said it.” He tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear and leaned in for the second time, planting a gentle kiss on my lips this time and pulling away just enough so that our lips were barely touching – close enough for me to feel his growing smile. “I love you, Roger Taylor, even when you taste like booze.”

I shook my head, unable to hold back the grin that broke out on my face as I gave up trying to keep myself angry with him. I just couldn’t. I missed him too much, and so long as he was back – _for good_ – that’s all that mattered. “I love you too, John,” I muttered, grabbing onto his shirt and drawing him in for another kiss.

 _“Humpy Bong,”_ I remembered, “ _I can’t believe Tim fucking left us for_ Humpy Bong _._ ” Little did I know it would be the best thing to ever happen to me. 


End file.
